


Cigarettes After Sex

by Enochianess



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Coffee Shops, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Gaslighting, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Phone Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes his job. He really does. Except for his asshole of a coworker that is.</p><p>Another Coffeeshop AU with sad boys and fluffy happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The name of this fic is from a band by the same name, which is based in Brooklyn. I highly recommend checking them out because they're pretty awesome and their songs always remind me of being in NYC.
> 
> I'll be adding tags to this along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of the Orlando shootings, so if that triggers anything for you, be warned.

_“Maybe the wolf is in love with the moon, and each month it cries for a love it will never touch.”_

— Unknown.

 

“Nat, _please._ I’ve got the headache from hell. Literally… the… headache… from… hell. Lucifer had fun mixing this one up. Mixed it something special just for little ol’ me. So, _please._ ”

“Ah-ah! No.” Natasha replies flatly. “Next time you shouldn’t drink so much, James. I’ve told you you’ve got to stop doing that. A hangover isn’t an excuse to miss a day of work.”

“Come on, Nat. I ain’t ever missed a day before.”

Natasha laughed. “No, but you’ve spent enough shifts doing fuck all. You may as well have not been there.”

James glowers at her, but Steve notes the lack of real heat in it. James clearly cared a lot more for Natasha than he did for him. And, weirdly, Natasha—the girl that intimidated almost everyone and seemed to be made of pure steel—actually had a soft spot for the guy. It was a complete anomaly and, if he was honest, Steve was kind of jealous. He had no idea what Natasha saw in him. The guy was a complete jerk.

“Look, James. I’m sorry you feel bad, I really am, but we’ve got the morning rush waiting for us outside and Steve and I can’t deal with that alone. It’s too late for me to call in anyone else, so you’re all we’ve got. Now buckle up, throw some water over your face and take some Advil. I’m going to open that door in five minutes.”

James grunts and walks towards the back of the coffee shop where the bathroom is.

“Oh and James—try to look alive when you come back. No one needs to see the Corpse Bride first thing in the morning.”

“You okay, Nat?” Steve asks once James is gone. He turns off the dishwasher and begins stacking the mugs beside the coffee maker. Most of the customers won’t be staying in the shop, but there is always the odd person who has the time to sit inside and enjoy the ambiance.

“Yeah, of course. James will pull through. Trust me, he’ll do it even if it kills him.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. James has never shown any semblance of a strong work ethic before. All the guy ever does is the bare minimum. He puts no effort into being kind or polite to his customers, not even a simple _hello_ or _have a nice day_.

“You ready, boys?” Natasha asks as she moves towards the door, keys jingling in her hand.

“Always.” Steve says.

He glances behind him to see James walking over, his hands behind his head as he pulls his too-long hair up into a loose bun.

“James?”

“Huh?”

“Are you ready?”

“No, but we’ve gotta do it anyway so you might as well get on with it.”

Steve rolls his eyes because, _seriously?_ Steve’s feeling tired as hell after three consecutive nights of barely any sleep. His insomnia has been terrible recently and he’s still managing to smile and be polite when the moment requires it of him. 

“Right, let’s get going then boys.” 

 

"So what's got you so worked up about this guy? He can't be  _that_ bad." Sam says.

The bar is dark and loud and everything Steve needs right now. The beer is mediocre, but Steve isn't drinking for the taste tonight; Steve just wants to forget for a little while. It's nice having Sam's company. They don't see much of each other these days—not since Sam was given a job at Stark Industries. He is the project manager of a campaign Stark has begun for returning veterans. Steve's proud of him; he's making a lot more of his life than Steve. Sam is on track whilst Steve is metaphorically stuck. He can't move forward, can't move back. He thinks maybe that is his real problem; he's still waiting for everything to return to the way things were.

Three years ago, Steve had been studying art at NYU. He had friends, went to parties, had fun. But then his mother started getting sick, real sick, and then they found out she had a tumour. He couldn't afford to pay his tuition and all the treatments that were needed. So, Steve dropped out, got a job at Natasha's coffee house in Brooklyn Heights, and spent every other waking moment caring for his mother. In the beginning, the results of the chemotherapy were promising, but after about a year she rapidly took a turn for the worst. Within three weeks, she was gone. Steve didn't take it well. Not at all. But Natasha was good to him, kept his job open during those weeks when he couldn't get out of bed, let alone go to work. Any dreams he'd had, any ideas about the future or going back to college, seemed to completely vanish. He moved into a smaller apartment where the rent was much lower and continued to work at the coffee shop with Nat. And, at the age of twenty-four, Steve's life is exactly the same. He gets up, goes for a run, showers, makes his way to work for the 7am start, spends his lunch break in the back of the shop, works until 5pm, then goes home and watches whatever trash is on the television. He doesn't cook for himself, doesn't care enough to make anything homemade, so he lives on takeout food and cheap sandwiches from the store on the corner. 

"He's got some kind of God complex or something, I don't know. There's just something about him that gets under my skin. You know when you meet someone and something just doesn't sit right? Like you can feel it?"

Steve knows he's probably being childish, that maybe if he got to know the guy he'd see some other side of him. Natasha has always been a great judge of character, hooking him up with girls on countless occasions—of course, none of these relationships had been successful, not with Steve's tendency to fall into the blues and abruptly stop speaking to them. Although, Steve can proudly say that as time has passed, his depressive episodes are becoming less and less frequent; slowly but surely, he is beginning to get over his mother's death. At least, as much as anyone can ever get past the death of a parent. He wonders if maybe it had been the timing of James entering his life that has contributed to this animosity he can't help but feel. It was Steve's first day back at work and James had been lounging against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand. He had sunken eyes and a greyish face to rival his own, and the unhealthy look of him reminded him fiercely of his mother. James was big and bulky though, his chest broad and his biceps bulging beneath his dark red henley. He had barely grunted in reply to Steve's hello and then he'd walked into the back without a word. 

“Yeah, man. I know someone like that. That someone being my boss. He's a fucking nightmare.”

“Nat obviously doesn’t see it." Steve says, continuing his rant. "She’s always rubbing at his shoulder or whispering in his ear.”

“Are they a thing?” Sam asks.

Steve smirks, but he doesn’t have it in him tonight to tease. He knows Sam has a thing for Natasha, knows because he stares at her the entire time he joins Steve for a coffee at the end of the day. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m not sure Nat’s in for that kinda thing, y’know? I’ve never seen her with anyone and she doesn’t talk about relationships, other than my lack thereof.”

“Maybe she’s just private. Not everyone is as chatty about these things as you, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m just sayin’ that I don’t think she’s into that. Y'know, just in case you knew someone who was interested.”

"Yeah, man. I get it." Sam grumbles.

"Hey, I might be wrong. Just don't want anyone getting hurt."

"I know, pal."

Steve swirls round on his stall to watch the people dancing—most of them just grinding—to Beyonce's _Drunk in Love_  and sighs. 

"Dude, you need to get laid."

"I told you, Sam. I don't wanna—"

"Yeah, I know, I know. You don't wanna sleep with anyone who don't mean anything."

"It's just better that way. Besides, I'm hardly gonna pick anyone up here."

"Why not?"

"I can't dance."

"They ain't dancing, Steve. They're having sex with their clothes on."

"On a dance floor. Even worse."

"Y'know, I knew this one chick..."

Steve's mind drifts. He thinks about the story he read in the newspaper this morning about the Orlando shooting. In a gay nightclub no less. It made him so angry he thought he could burst, steam practically blowing out his ears. He thinks about James and what a complete asshole he is. He thinks about how disgusted he'd been about the way he'd gone to work hungover, and then curses himself because he knows he's going to be hungover tomorrow and is a complete and utter hypocrite. He thinks about the errands he needs to run at the weekend: a trip to the laundromat, grocery shopping because his milk has begun to curdle and he only has cereal and granola bars left. He thinks about the fact that he hasn't had a relationship in over six months and has had to make do with his own hand to get off every night. He thinks and thinks and thinks until Sam's voice slowly breaks through the haze.

"Steve? You okay, man?"

"Sorry. Just spaced out I guess."

"Come on. Lets get you out of here. I think you've had more than enough."

 

Steve's right. He has a killer hangover, one that is a hundred percent worse than anything James could've had yesterday. He walks to work, the cold, brittle air doing wonders for his headache. He finds James smoking outside, the collar of his peacoat turned up and his long hair hanging over his face. His face is pale, as if he's been inside for too long, and beneath his eyes are shadows so dark it almost looks like he's been punched.

"You look like shit." James mutters as Steve goes to open the door to the coffee shop.

Steve pauses and takes a deep breath. He doesn't need this this morning. "You ain't lookin' so good yourself, Corpse Bride."

James takes another drag of his cigarette and releases the smoke with a look akin to bliss on his face. "Didn't get a lot of sleep, huh?"

"Not exactly."

"Man, I know how that feels."

Steve looks at the guy in shock. He never speaks to him. Never agrees with him on anything or engages in conversation. He just never makes an effort, period. But then James grunts and throws the cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with the toe of his worker's boots and says, "It's cold as shit out here. Hurry up so I can get inside, would ya?"

Steve rolls his eyes and mutters, "Asshole." 

"What was that, princess?" James says behind him.

"Nothing."

 

"Got your coffees ready for you, boys." Natasha says, a smile on her face as they walk into the shop.

"Thanks, darlin'." Bucky says, sidling up to her and giving her a loud kiss on the forehead.

Natasha punches him on the arm and glares at him. "Call me that again and I swear I'll kick you ass, Yasha."

 _Yasha?_   _Who the fuck is Yasha?_

"Steve here is a little hungover today, so go a little easy on him would ya?"

Natasha turns to him, hands on her hips, and looks at him with a disappointed look on her face. "Seriously, Steve? First this idiot and now you too? What the hell has gotten into you?"

_Asshole. Asshole. Asshole._

"Sorry, Nat. Rough night."

"And I understand that, Steve. But wait until you've got a day off the next day, huh?"

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Right," She says, clapping her hands together loudly. "You've got half an hour to drink your coffees and get everything ready. And I don't want anything half assed this morning, okay? James?"

James, as always, merely grunts. Steve rubs at his temples and takes a deep breath. He knows it's going to be one hell of a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a glimpse into James' private life and what he sees is far from what he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add and delete this chapter a few times, so apologies to everyone for that!

It's 3am and Steve... cannot... sleep. He thinks he might go insane, tossing and turning, tossing and turning. His back aches and his arms ache from moving and now his bed feels like the lumpiest, most uncomfortable bed in the world. He sits up with a groan and picks up his glasses from his bedside table. He's tempted to put the television on and watch some shitty home shopping channel, but his eyes sting like holy hell and he's not sure he can concentrate on the screen without crying. Instead, what he does is get up, pull a t-shirt and old hoodie on and slip into his sneakers. He pushes at the ends of his sweatpants because they've moved up his calves since getting into bed. He grabs his wallet and keys from his bedside table and leaves the apartment, sighing with relief when he goes downstairs and out into the open air. It's cold in New York at the moment, but on nights like these, when he's feeling anxious and irritable, he relishes in the chilly breeze. 

The streets are empty besides a few bums sat on the sidewalk. He offers change to a man holding a sign saying,  _Cold and hungry, please help._ The man is old and frail, his face grimy and his hair thinning. He has a small terrier laying beside him and Steve is pretty sure it's not going to last more than a few weeks, its bones protruding and its fur falling out. Steve keeps walking, a solemn expression on his face, until he reaches the small twenty-four-hour diner that's located a few blocks over from his house. He feels incredibly alone as he sits down in one of the booths, picking up the menu even though he's not hungry. He stares at it blankly, his eyes taking in the words but his brain completely unable to string them together.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" A young woman asks. 

Steve looks up and notices absently that she's very young and very pretty. She's small with a slim build and long brown hair. She has a huge smile on her face and Steve wonders how anyone can be so happy. He doesn't even remember the last time he was truly happy, and isn't that just the most depressing thought?

"Just a coffee please." Steve says.

He slides the menu to the other side of the table once she leaves and rubs his hands over his face. He doesn't understand how he's become this person. This sad, shell of a thing. He knows his mother would be disappointed, would yell at him to get it together and pull himself out of this slump that he's been in for far too long. But it's just so goddamn hard. He's all alone. Has no one outside of Sam and Natasha. He wants to cry so badly but he's overtired and the tears just won't come.

Steve looks around the diner unseeingly, but then his eyes catch on a man with shoulder-length brown hair and he sits up more in his seat. It's James—of course it is. But, rather than the laid back, cocky manner he usually carries himself with, the guy is sat with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. He looks timid, as if he's being scorned, and that's when he notices the other man sat opposite him, his arms flying around dramatically. Steve frowns and watches as James keeps nodding to whatever is being said to him. It seems so out of character that it actually worries him, and if that doesn't say something... Steve has a bad feeling about the whole thing, a churning in his gut telling him that something is wrong here. He gets up, forgetting the coffee that is yet to show up, and makes his way over to the booth the two men are sat in.

"James!" Steve exclaims with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. "Fancy seeing you here."

James' head turns sharply and his eyes go wide. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and Steve realises from the panic on James' face that he may have just screwed up. 

"Who's this guy?" The other man says loudly, aggressive almost. He's big, his muscles rivalling James' own, and tall from what Steve can tell. He has a few wrinkles on his face and Steve can tell he's at least five years older than James and himself. His eyes are narrowed at Steve and he feels his throat bob with a small gulp. He can feel the anger pulsing in the air and Steve really begins to wonder what he's just walked in on. Something about him just screams danger and Steve immediately just wants to grab James and get the hell out of there.

James blinks quickly, wringing his hands in his lap nervously. "H-he works with me. Coworker."

"Ah, I see. Pals, are we?"

"No, Brock."

"It's true." Steve intervenes. "I just wasn't expecting to see him is all. I thought I'd say hello, but I can see you're busy. I'll leave you two alone."

Steve walks back to his table and thinks about James. He tries to connect the man he's just seen with the man he works with, but finds it almost impossible. He's never seen the guy look so small, so vulnerable. He hates himself for what he's just done. Both the fact that he walked over there in the first place, and then that he left the two alone. He really hopes that James will be safe with the guy, but something tells Steve that he'll be lucky if that's the case. Steve wonders how they know each other, whether James owes him something or is in a relationship with him. Nothing about James suggests that he's interested in men, but Steve learnt long ago that sometimes people can be very surprising.

 

Steve doesn't sleep at all that night. He gets home at 4:30am and then gets changed and goes for a run. He pushes himself harder than normal, trying to drive away the unpleasant thoughts that won't leave his head. He wonders how he's going to make it through a full day of work with the exhaustion he can feel in every sinew and bone in his body. Idiotically, just to punish himself further, he does two-hundred crunches and four sets of push-ups for ten reps. The pain he feels zapping through his body on the way to work helps to keep him awake, but Steve knows in about an hour he's just going to be further exhausted. He debates with himself in his head whether or not he should confront James. On the one hand, it could give James an outlet for whatever issues he's dealing with, but on the other, it could blow up in his face and make James even more angry with him than he usually seems to be. He decides the latter is probably the more likely result. James and him aren't exactly on good terms, are they?

 

"So, glasses. Huh?" James mutters. He's leaning against the wall with a cigarette in between his fingers again, one foot propped up on the wall. He looks annoyingly cool and Steve wonders if he does it on purpose, the whole rugged model thing. He looks exactly like he just rolled out of bed and shucked some clothes on and Steve bets that is exactly what he did. Steve can never do that. His hair is always sticking up in all kinds of directions and tends to be annoyingly fluffy. Today he was too tired to put in his contacts. So, glasses.

Steve pauses with the coffee shop door open half way and turns to look at him. "Yep. Problem?"

James' eyebrows shoot up. "Hey, pal. I was just making small talk."

"You don't make small talk."

"Says who?"

"Me. I do. I've known you for three years and you've never once wanted to make idle conversation."

James shrugs. "Maybe that's because when I do the guy usually turns out to be a complete jerk."

And... he's got a point. Steve _is_ being a complete jerk. Childish too. But he's just so goddamn tired. 

"Look, about last night—" 

"I don't wanna talk about it." James snaps, his eyes narrowing. His face is filled with such a hateful expression that Steve makes a small step backwards.

"Alright. I-I just wanted to check you're okay."

"I'm fine. See?" James say, stepping away from the wall and spreading his arms out wide so Steve can inspect him.

"I'll see you inside." Steve says curtly. 

 

Steve can't stop staring. He's seen James' tattoo before, the sleeve of intricate metal plates with a red star on his shoulder, but he thinks it will never cease to amaze him. As an artist it makes his fingers twitch with the need to draw it, to study it from every angle and take it in for the masterpiece that it is. Of course, he's never said as much to James. He'd complimented him on it the first time he'd seen it, but James had just grunted in reply, as per usual. Today, James is wearing a tight white t-shirt and Steve cannot... stop... staring. Steve hates it because he's always had a weakness for tattoos, and on a man like James, who admittedly is very attractive, it drives Steve a little crazy. In fact, if James wasn't, well  _James,_ Steve thinks he'd be totally into him. It had been a disappointment when he'd realised how much of a jerk the guy is. Although, today James is strangely silent and Steve wonders if it was something to do with the night before. He's noticed Natasha looking at him worriedly, rubbing his back every now and then, and cupping his cheek in the moments where James seems especially out of it. 

"What's wrong with him?" Steve whispers to Natasha when James walks outside for a smoke on his break.

Natasha shakes her head. "That's not for me to tell. He just gets like this sometimes, real reserved and quiet. Don't worry about it, he'll be fine tomorrow."

"I'm not worried." Steve says quickly.

"Mm-hm. I can see that." Natasha smirks.

"It's just weird to see him actually working efficiently. It's like he's on autopilot."

"I know. People always concentrate on their work more when they're sad. You should know that, Steve."

"Nothing has... happened, has it?"

Natasha shakes her head again. "I don't know. He doesn't like to talk about anything personal. I've known him since we were in high school and I still have to really fight to get anything out of him."

"High school?"

"Yeah. I thought I already told you that."

"No."

"Customer, Steve." She says, nodding towards the door.

"I'm on it."

James follows behind the old woman and Steve is shocked to see his eyes red-rimmed and his eyelashes clumped together. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky shuts him down with a sharp, "Don't."

Steve nods, a weight dropping in his stomach. He wishes to God he knew what was going on, but it's pretty obvious he won't be finding out any time soon. He sighs heavily and turns back to the customer, a wide, forced smile on his face.

"How can I help you today ma'am?"


	3. Chapter 3

"So, I said to her, that is also _lute_ ly not Cartier. It's _cle_ arly Louis Vuitton." The woman—Sharon—says, holding her wineglass in one hand while she gesticulates with the other.

Steve is fighting the urge to repeatedly smack his forehead on the table in front of him, but instead he smiles at the right moments and eats his food as quickly as possible. He's going to kill Sam for this one.  _She's nice,_ he'd said.  _Beautiful too,_  he'd said. _Just your type,_ he'd said. Though it's true she is beautiful, and probably nice too beneath the superficial vibe she's giving off, Steve can firmly conclude that she is far from his type. She's dressed in a cream, knee-length, body-hugging dress and black stilettos, her blond hair curled in at the ends. She really is very attractive, but also  _dull_ as hell. They've been talking about her friend Jessica for the better part of a half hour now and Steve is ready to scream.  _She doesn't understand what her colours are. She's never going to keep a man if she keeps_ that  _attitude. She really ought to get a maid; she's so goddamn messy._

"Did you watch the baseball game on Saturday?" Steve says the moment there is a gap in the conversation.

Sharon looks at him in surprise. "Baseball? No, I _hate_ it. It drags on for _so_ long and the food is disgusting. I'm more of a tennis girl. I mean, have you _seen_ the cute little outfits the women get to wear?"

Steve sighs and refrains from dropping an elbow on the table so he can rest his head in his hand. Right now he could be home watching reruns of Fuller House, or watching the football game he taped yesterday. Anything but being sat across from a woman he has zero interest in. He feels bad for how little attention he's paying, but really, why does she think he gives a flying fuck about whether it was Cartier or not? He thinks what it would be like to just run out right now, run to Sam's or Natasha's and order a pizza. He wants to so badly, but he has this damn conscience and he just can't do it. 

"So would you, darling?" She asks, oblivious to the fact Steve hasn't listened to a word she's just said.

And, _Darling?_

"Sorry, what was that? I spaced out a little."

Sharon smiles at him sweetly, shaking her head as if to say,  _silly Steve._ "I said, would you like to come to my gallery opening next Thursday? I've been working with the artists for months and I think it's really going to be something special."

"Oh... uh— let me think... Gosh, I'm really sorry but I have plans that night."

"Oh?" She asks, looking down and moving her salad around her plate with her fork.

"Me and my friend from work are going to watch the baseball."

"And this friend... _she_ likes baseball does she?"

"Uh, it's a he actually. James."

 _What is he_ saying? It could've been Natasha. Duh. But then, Sharon might be jealous and that is a whole can of worms he has no intention of opening.

"You can't cancel? It would really mean a lot if you came. I know this is the first time we've met, but I really feel a connection here. Don't you?"

"Uh-huh." Steve stammers. "But I can't cancel. He's been having a rough time lately. I'm going to see him tonight actually."

"Oh, when?"

"In about an hour. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course. It's _so_ good of you to look after your friends like that. I wish one of my girlfriends would do that for me."

"Well, we've known each other for years."

"It really is so sweet, Steve. Maybe I could stop by the coffee shop tomorrow and meet him. You do work at Natasha's, don't you? Sam told me you did."

"Uh— yeah, I guess that'd be okay."

"Great!" Sharon says, a wide grin on her face. "Now, moving on. Did I tell you about the trouble I had at Macy's today?"

 

"Look, I need to ask you a favour." Steve says, his teeth grinding together.

James' eyes are wide as he turns to look at him, his lips turning up into a smirk that only grows wider the longer he stares at Steve. "Me? You wanna ask _me_ for a favour?"

"Yes. Just— _please._  Don't be an asshole for like five minutes."

James crosses his arms and leans forward until their faces are close together. Steve pretends not to notice how pretty James' face actually is, or how beautiful his eyes are. He really is a handsome man, Steve thinks, if only he had the personality to match.

"I'm listening." 

"I need you to pretend we're friends. Like close friends. And you've been having a hard time and I've been helping you through it."

James frowns at that. "This better not be about—"

"It's not." Steve interrupts. "I was having a bad date and said I had to go see you to make sure you were doing okay."

"Oh, it's so sweet to know you care, Stevie." James says, fluttering his eyelashes like the girls on the television.

"I hate you." Steve mumbles.

"I know, sweetheart."

"Will you do it? She's gonna be here in like an hour or so."

"Fine, but you'll owe me one. And I won't forget neither."

"Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want, huh?" James says. His eyes flicker down to Steve's mouth and his hips tilt forward. He runs his tongue across his lips and his eyes flicker up to meet Steve's gaze again and... yep, there's that signature smirk again.

"Whatever you want,  _within reason."_

"Ah-ah. That's not what we agreed to, Stevie."

"Well, it's what you're gonna get, so quit it."

James grins and bows, spinning around at the ringing of the bell above the shop door. 

 

When Steve walks back into the front of the coffee shop after his lunch break, he finds—to his horror—that James is sat with Sharon at a table in the corner. James is leaning over the table and Sharon is looking to the side, a blush on her face.

"Hey, guys." Steve says as he approaches.

"Steve!" James exclaims. "There's my best guy."

Steve tries his best not to glare daggers at him and turns to Sharon with a soft smile instead. "I hope he hasn't been bothering you too much."

"Oh, no. We've been having _quite_ the interesting conversation."

"Yeah?" Steve utters nervously.

"I didn't realise you date men as well. _That_ is something you failed to mention."

And... how the hell does James even know that about him? He's never even told Natasha. Sam is the only one who knows about that.

"Uh... Is that a problem?"

"Well, no. It would have been nice if you'd told me though. Especially that you've dated _James."_ She says pointedly.

James stands up and slaps his ass before throwing an arm around him shoulders. Steve jolts forward and clenches his hands into fists. "Don't worry, darlin'. That was a long time ago. College. Wasn't it, Stevie?"

"Y-yeah. That's right."

"Although we do still like to hook up every now and then. Sometimes you just gotta scratch that itch. Y'know?"

Sharon stutters over her words, nothing intelligible actually coming out. Her cheeks turn a deep red and she fidgets in her seat, clearly flustered. 

"He's... kidding. Just kidding. Right, pal?" Steve forces out, nudging Bucky away from him.

"Come on, Steve. There's no need to lie here. We're all friends."

"Look, I think I better go. I'm clearly stepping into the middle of something and I _really_ don't need that kind of drama in my life. Goodbye, Steve."

The moment she's out the shop Steve grabs hold of James' arm and drags him into the bathroom in the back.

"Ooh, kinky. Are we scratching the itch now, Stevie?" James teases as Steve locks the door behind them.

"What the fuck was that?" Steve whispers angrily.

"You said you had a bad date. Now you won't have to go on another one."

Steve ponders this. The guy did have a point. But still...

"Now for my reward..." James says, rubbing his hands together like some kind of mad man.

"What do you want?" Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sharon mentioned we're going to a baseball game on Thursday."

"Yeah..."

"So, I want you to take me. I haven't been to a game for I don't know how long. We don't gotta talk or nothin'—I know how much you hate my voice—but I want you to take me."

"Uh... Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"Awesome. Now can I leave? We've kinda got a job to do."

"Sure." Steve says.

James opens the door, but before he can step outside Steve grabs at his sleeve. James looks down at Steve's hand and then up to meet his eyes. It's silent for a moment and James' brow begins to furrow.

"I— I don't hate your voice. Just in case... y'know, that you really think that. I don't hate it."

"Oh." James says, his lips parted just slightly.

Steve nods. The silence becomes uncomfortable and James looks down. He points over his shoulder with his thumb, but doesn't look up. "Well, I'm gonna— I'm gonna go."

"Okay. Okay."

"Right."

"Go on. I'll follow in a minute."

"Don't wanna make people talk. Huh, Stevie?" James says with a smirk.

"Absolutely not." Steve says with a small smile.

"Alright then, punk. See you outside."

And with that, James walks out, leaving a slightly confused Steve in the bathroom alone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I realised I made a major mistake because baseball season is in the summer and the fall, but just for this story's sake, lets all pretend baseball plays through winter ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Steve sits on his couch, wringing his hands together and bouncing his leg up and down. Time is ticking by too quickly, and if he's not careful, Steve is going to be late.

The American Psychological Association defines anxiety as an emotion characterized by feelings of tension, worried thoughts, and physical changes like increased blood pressure. They state that people with anxiety disorders usually have recurring intrusive thoughts or concerns, and they may avoid certain situations out of worry.

Steve never used to have anxiety. Sure, he got nervous or panicky sometimes, but it was no more than anyone else. Now, the strangest and most random things can set him off. One of them is leaving his apartment.

He can't explain what it is that frightens him so much, or why he frequently feels like crying when he has to force himself out the door. It's not a constant problem; he can still go to bars with Sam, go to work, go for midnight walks when the insomnia is too much to bear. It's just sometimes. Usually things unfamiliar trigger him, things that fall outside his usual routine. He hates that he never knows when the episodes are going to occur. It's the worst thing about it. He finds himself waiting for them to come and drag him back down. That, in turn, makes him nervous and can sometimes actually cause an attack. It's a vicious cycle and sometimes a very difficult way to live.

He wishes he could understand it, wishes he could understand a lot of the ways that his brain ticks, but he always draws a blank. Weirdest of all, it's not just a mental challenge, but a physical one too—they don't tell you that in books or movies, the way your anxiety-riddled mind seems to be hardwired into your bones, making it practically impossible to move. Steve's limbs become heavy and sluggish, and it takes all of his willpower to get out the door.

It all started after his mother died. He's sure that was the catalyst. Being unable to leave his apartment followed his inability to get out of his bed, but whereas getting out of bed in the days following his mother's death got easier, not being able to leave his apartment proved to be a lasting nuisance in his life. He felt vulnerable going outside, especially in the beginning. As he saw it, once he left his apartment he was at risk from the harm the world wanted to inflict upon him. For Steve, it seemed like the world had a personal vendetta against him, so hiding from it felt reasonable. It had taken his dad, his mom. It had tried to take his own life multiple times as a child, and it is only because of the miracle of modern medicine that he's here now. He's sure that otherwise the world would have swallowed him whole and laughed whilst it did it. He thinks he's obviously a magnet for pain; if he leaves the apartment, something bad is sure to happen. Or so he tells himself on his bad days.

Sam told him it was okay. It was normal to acquire such thought patterns after a tragic loss. It was part of the grief, he had said. But, here he is, two years later, sat on the sofa, too scared to leave and go to a damn baseball game. He has no need to be nervous about it—he knows that. he works with James five days a week most weeks. He's known him for two years. The problem is, he's never seen him outside of work, other than in the diner the other night. He's not used to being in a different environment with him. Going out with Sam is usually easy, but going out with James, a man who hates him, isn't quite so simple.

Steve takes a deep breath and picks up his phone. 

Sam answers on the second ring. Always on the second ring for Steve.

"I can't leave the apartment, Sam. I'm stuck."

"Okay, buddy. Talk me through it. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"I'm s'posed to go watch the baseball game with James. Y'know, the guy from work."

"The one you hate?"

“I don’t _hate_ him, but yeah.”

“And now you’re freaking out.”

Steve whines. “I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much.”

“You don’t know him very well. I’m sure that’s all it is. You worried about talking to him? Think it’s going to be awkward?”

“Mm-hm. We’ve got nothing in common.”

“How’d you know that if you’ve never _actually_ talked?”

"I just do." He murmurs childishly.

Sam laughs. "C'mon. It ain't gonna be so bad. You don't even have to talk. You can just watch the game."

"I guess."

"And if you do wanna talk, that's fine too."

"Okay."

"You good now, man?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime, buddy."

Steve hangs up with a sigh.  _I can do this,_ he chants to himself.  _I can do this._

 

It’s madness when Steve emerges from the subway station at the Yankee Stadium. The crowd is already dense and rowdy. There’s a culmination of red and blue heads bobbing up and down as people make their way inside, the caps of both the Yankees’ and the Red Sox’s fans blending into one moving entity. Steve wishes almost immediately that he and James had decided on somewhere quieter to meet up. It’s going to be nearly impossible to find him in this crowd and he can already feel his palms beginning to sweat from the anxiety that is pressing down on his chest. If he doesn’t find him, James is going to think he’s been stood up, and he’ll hate Steve more than he already does.

Suddenly, by some miracle, Steve spots him. Stood at the edge of the crowd, hunched against the wind and shifting from foot to foot, is a man wearing a blue baseball cap. The collar of his peacoat is turned up so that most of his face is obscured, but Steve can see the wayward strands of his long hair blowing in the chilly air. He thinks, despite his dislike of the guy, that he’d probably recognize him anywhere. The long legs, pale skin, shoulder-length hair, and muscular build. Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t spent his fair share of time looking at him. Only when he’s sure that he won’t be caught, of course. There’s something about him, something Steve can’t quite put his finger on or figure out, something mysterious. Steve has learnt nothing about him over the past two years, doesn’t know one damn thing about his personal life. The other week he’d caught a glimpse, and Steve didn’t like it. Looking at James now, he can only wonder what’s going on in his head. He looks awful. There is a cigarette hanging from his fingers, as per usual, but he’s not raising it to his lips, just tapping rhythmically at it. Steve thinks maybe James is feeling as anxious about this as he is. If not, something entirely different must be bothering him because he's certainly not okay.

“You’re late.” James says when Steve approaches him. He looks unhealthy close up, the bags under his eyes even darker than usual. He tries his best to smile at Steve, but it mostly falls flat. Steve appreciates the effort and smiles back at him. Baseball games are long; they might as well be civil to one another.

“Sorry. The subway was crazy.”

James nods. “You wanna go in? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Sure.”

  

Spending time with James is… surprisingly okay. He doesn’t make any snarky remarks, doesn’t make fun of Steve, and he doesn’t argue when Steve tells him he has to buy his own damn hotdog. He’s quiet to begin with, similarly to how he’d been at work a few days ago, but it doesn’t take too long for him to warm up to Steve and start making conversation.

“Y’know, I used to come here all the time as a kid.” James says. He’s started to bounce up and down slightly in his seat, excitement clearly beginning to get the better of him. Steve thinks it’s a little endearing and wonders what the guy usually does for fun, if anything at all.

“But not anymore?” Steve asks.

“Nah. It was always a thing I did with my dad, but then he passed away.”

“I’m sor—“

James waves him off. “Don’t. It was a long time ago.”

“I would’ve loved to come as a kid. I didn’t see a game until I was fifteen.” Steve says.

“How come?”

“My ma didn’t like baseball and I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. I was a real loner for a long time back then.”

“Really? But you’re… y’know— _you.”_ James replied, waving a hand in front of Steve’s body.

Steve laughs uncomfortably. He’s proud of his body now—he’s worked hard for it—but it doesn’t mean he’s not still self-conscious about it. “I wasn’t always like this. I was real skinny when I was young. Always got sick. Didn’t go out much because of it.”

“Huh. I can’t imagine that.”

“I didn’t get on with the other kids. I got into a lot of fights.”

“You? Fighting? I mean, I bet you could take a guy—maybe even a couple of guys—down easy, but you don’t seem the type.”

“I’ve always had a bit of a stubborn streak. And I don’t like bullies. Never have. I was picked on all the time, but I didn’t want to back down. You back down and they’re never gonna let you get back up. I couldn’t just let them win without a fight. Y’know what I mean?”

James nods, a strange look on his face, distant. It almost looks like… _understanding._ Steve doesn’t know what to make of it, but he wonders if it is anything to do with that Brock guy. Their conversation, or Brock’s lecture, hadn’t been friendly. It almost looked like… well— _bullying._

“I’ll bet those bullies sure don’t pick on you now, huh?”

Steve snorts. “You should’ve seen them when I came back from summer camp senior year after the growth spurt. Totally freaked them out.”

“I can imagine.”

 

Steve regrets everything.

One minute, he’s clapping along with everyone else as the kiss cam scans around the crowd, and then suddenly it’s them on the screen and everyone is cheering for them and they’re both completely frozen.

“Steve…”

“No.”

“Come on. Lets just do it. It don’t mean nothin’.”

Steve sighs. “James—“

He turns around, but before he can say anything, James leans forward and presses their mouths together. It’s… strangely tender. James’ lips are soft and Steve finds himself pressing into the kiss, cupping the side of James' face in his hand. James makes a little noise of surprise but doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses a second kiss to Steve’s lips, turning his head this time for a better angle and sliding an arm around his waist. The kiss cam has already turned off them, but they don’t notice. They both breathe deeply through their noses whilst they brush their lips softly together. Steve boldly sticks the tip of his tongue out and gives a little kitten lick to James’ bottom lip. James whimpers, and, much to Steve’s disappointment, this is what seems to jolt James back into the present. He pulls back sharply and stares at Steve. He looks shocked… and then terrified.

“I’ve gotta— I gotta—“ He mumbles, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. He gets up from his seat and the next thing Steve knows, James is clambering over people to make for the exit.

“James—!” Steve calls out.

It’s too late. James has already made it out the aisle and is running from the stadium.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve stares down as he stirs his coffee. He slowly pushes the foam around the inside of his mug, making white swirling patterns. It’s a wet, miserable day. The kind where the sun barely seems to rise and everywhere is blanketed in an oppressive, dark air. Sam is still wet where he sits opposite Steve, his sopping jacket hung over the back of his chair. It’s the end of the day; Sam usually calls around at this time on his way home from work. Being so busy all the time, it’s one of the only times they get to see each other during the week.

“You kissed him?” Sam asks incredulously. _“Kissed_ him?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Dude, you don’t kiss people you hate.”

“It was the kiss cam!”

“You could’ve said no. Just sayin’.”

“I did. I was sat there and then he turned around and just laid one on me.”

“And you were completely passive then?”

“Well, I kissed back. It would’ve been rude not to.”

Sam laughs. “Is he a terrible kisser at least?”

Steve smothers his face with his hands and lets his elbows rest on the table, and he mumbles a distressed, “No.”

“Was it awkward this morning?”

 _“Yes._ He wouldn’t even look at me. Hasn’t spoken to me all day.”

“Huh. That’s a bit childish.”

“I honestly don’t know what to make of him sometimes. He’s so changeable. One minute he’ll be a sarcastic asshole, the next he looks like a kicked puppy. I don’t know whether to punch him or hug him.”

“Definitely not hug. From what I’ve seen of the guy, he doesn’t seem the type. I wouldn’t wanna upset him. Guy’s fucking huge.”

“I’m not exactly small and you still hug me.”

“Yeah, well. You need fucking hugging. You cry at everything.”

“That’s not true.”

“Dude, we watched the Little Mermaid the other day and you cried.”

“I’m just very in touch with my emotions. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Steve argues, his cheeks turning scarlet.

Sam laughs and leans forward to shove at Steve’s shoulder. “I ain’t sayin’ anything’s wrong with it. Just that maybe this James guy is different.”

As if he’d heard them, James emerged from the back room with his peacoat on and his hair still scraped back into the bun he usually wears for work. He walks through the coffeeshop and out the door with a graceful swagger, his boots silent on the wooden flooring. Steve watches him as he goes and sighs heavily. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about the kiss since it'd happened, spent the night laying awake thinking about it. This morning in the shower, much to his embarrassment, he'd even found himself getting hard, had come to the thought of James' lips and tongue. Now, watching him walk past the window, Steve can't help but feel a little guilty about it. 

"Hate, my ass." Sam mutters.

  

On Monday, James is extremely quiet. Now, not only is he not talking to Steve, he’s barely talking to Natasha either. He looks lost, a million miles away. During Steve’s numerous attempts to start conversation, he just stares him down until it becomes uncomfortable and Steve backs away. He’s clearly in a bad mood and it only serves to irritate Steve further. He knows that James might be having a hard time, just like he’d told Sharon last week, but it’s no excuse for him being so rude.

“What’s your problem?” Steve whispers harshly.

“I don’t have a problem.” James hisses back, his eyes narrowed.

“ _You_ kissed _me_. You don’t get to treat me like dirt just because you regret it.”

“It’s not that I— Oh, for God’s sake. Will you just leave me the fuck alone? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

James laughs, but it’s cruel in sound. “You’re one to talk. Can’t you see I’m having a bad day? I don’t need this. Especially not from you.”

“And I don’t need to deal with your bullshit.”

“Well, if you left me the fuck alone, you wouldn’t have to. Would you?”

Steve huffs and walks away. “I’m taking five!” He calls out, just in case Natasha is around, and walks out the shop door. He leans against the brick wall where he usually finds James on his cigarette breaks, and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He doesn’t usually lose his temper, but there’s something about James that just drives him crazy. He pulls at strings Steve didn’t even know he had. James somehow winds himself into his thoughts, tugs at him, makes him  _want._ Steve doesn't know exactly what he wants, but it  _burns_ sometimes, he wants it that much. Now though... Now Steve just wants to punch the guy in the face. It's a strange culmination of emotions and Steve is so wound up and confused. He thinks he might go insane from it all.

 

When he walks back in, Steve can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Can you just pick a fucking coffee?” James practically yells at the dithering customer he’s serving.

“James!” Steve snaps, rushing forward to apologize to the customer.

James scoffs, his eyes wild, his hair falling from the bun into his face.

“Yasha. Back room. Cool off.” Natasha says lowly. Her voice is perfectly calm, but Steve can hear the threat hidden in there. Steve certainly wouldn’t argue with her.

James yanks his apron off and drops it on the floor, then makes a quick exit, his fist slamming down on the counter as he goes.

“Give him a minute and then follow him.” Natasha orders.

“I doubt he wants to see me of all people.” Steve protests.

“He needs someone. This isn’t like him, Steve. Something’s wrong.”

Steve nods. He makes the woman her coffee, on the house of course, and then walks into the back of the shop. What he’s not expecting to see is James sat on the floor, his knees to his chest and his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with what sounds like barely suppressed sobs. Steve doesn’t know what to do. Every cell in his body wants to comfort him, despite how he’s been acting recently, but he’s afraid James is going to be furious with him if he tries.

“James?”

James turns his head away from him and a loud choked off sound fills the quiet space.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I just want you to know, if you need anything… Well, I’m here. Okay?” Steve says, pausing. “I know we’re not exactly friends, but I don’t like seeing you like this. I actually kind of miss you being a jerk. So, just— Don’t keep all this stuff to yourself. No matter what it is. Let someone help.”

“No one can help.” Steve thinks he hears James mumble.

“Do you need anything? Now, I mean.” Steve offers. He doesn’t know what to say to James’ previous comment.

“Just— Can you just sit with me? Just for a while?” He asks, turning his head slightly so he can peer at Steve. His eyes are red-rimmed, but so, so blue. The sadness and… fear(?) in them breaks Steve’s heart. All he wants to do all of a sudden is to gather this man into his arms and never let him go, never let anyone or anything hurt him ever again. But, he can’t do that. He knows James hates him, especially after the baseball game, so he keeps his hands to himself.

Steve nods with a small smile. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

James sighs heavily and leans against the hard line of Steve’s body. He turns his head more so that his face is pressed against Steve’s shoulder. Tentatively, so James can refute him if he wants to, Steve reaches his arm up and places it around James’ shoulders. He’s expecting a snarky remark, but all he gets in response is a contented hum.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You can call me Bucky… if you want.”

“Bucky?”

“It’s what my friends call me.”

Steve feels his mouth go dry, his throat constrict. “Okay, Bucky.”

“And I, uh— I’m sorry. For yelling at that woman and for— for being such an asshole to you since Thursday _.”_

“It doesn’t matter.” Steve says, squeezing at Bucky’s shoulder. “I get it. The kiss cam made you uncomfortable.”

“No. I just— I _can’t._ Y’know? And, I have all this stuff going on and I guess today… the culmination of it all just got too much.”

“We all have bad days, pal.”

“So, you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not. I mean, _sometimes._ When you’re being a dick. But, not for this.”

"Thank you." He whispers. It's said so sincerely, so genuinely. "I— I used to have outbursts like this a lot. It's been a while though." 

Steve hums, sad at how dejected Bucky sounds. "It's just a slip up. I'm sure you're doing great."

 _"I was._ That's what makes this so annoying."

"Well, how about you wash up, and then we get back out there? Face the music."

"I— I'm not sure I'm ready."

"Yes you are. Come on. I'll buy you a coffee after if you like?"

Bucky looks up at Steve, his eyes wide. "Really? Isn't your friend going to be here?"

Now it's Steve's turn to look shocked. He thought Bucky was completely oblivious to everything Steve did. He didn't think he cared enough to ever notice him. "No, not today." 

"Okay then." He whispers, a small smile on his face. "I'd like that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not very confident about this chapter, but oh well!

Things slowly begin to change after that day. Bucky stops glaring and snapping at Steve and instead offers small, shy smiles and quiet inside jokes. They talk to each other every morning before work while Bucky smokes his first cigarette of the day, and they learn that they have more in common than they’d first thought. It’s just little things, like going to the same elementary school and playing at the same park as kids, a mutual dislike of politics and an affinity for Netflix. Bucky still makes snarky remarks and jokes at Steve’s expense, but Steve is kind of glad; he wouldn’t be Bucky if he wasn’t being a sarcastic asshole.

Bucky also still has his bad days, days where he withdraws into himself and seems to hate the world and everything in it. Steve gives him space. Sometimes, when Bucky looks on the verge of tears, Steve will rub at his shoulder or pat him on the back, just to remind him that he’s not alone, just to offer him some comfort. Bucky doesn’t flinch, doesn’t glare at him for it, much to Steve’s surprise. Instead, he relaxes into the touch for a minute and seems to just slump, as if in relief. Steve doesn’t know what’s going on in that head of his and he knows better than to ask by now, but Bucky’s beginning to look more and more tired recently and Steve can’t help but keep a careful eye on him. Bucky’s remaining professional, not having anymore outbursts, which is good, but Steve wishes he’d show some emotion, rather than the blank look in his eyes he’s been getting.

“I’m worried about him.” Natasha whispers to Steve during his lunch break. Bucky is still working out front.

“I thought you said this was normal?”

“Yeah, but he seems to be having a hell of a lot of bad days recently. Has he said anything to you? Hinted at anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to him. He trusts you.”

Natasha laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Talking to him is just about the worst thing I could do right now. He gets real wound up if you do that.”

“He said something the other day actually, after that incident with the customer. Something about no one being able to help him.”

“He gets lost in his head sometimes. He gets all these crazy ideas and fixations and totally blows everything out of proportion. He won’t talk about it though and then he’s got no one to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. This one time he got it into his head that I hated him because I hadn’t talked to him all day, when I was just feeling really miserable. It took me a good few days to convince him everything was fine.”

Steve makes a sad clucking sound in the back of his throat. “I’ll try to talk to him. Maybe take him out for a drink later.”

“If he’ll agree to it.” Natasha says, one eyebrow raised at him, clearly unconvinced.

Steve hums. “Yeah. Doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

Natasha sighs heavily. “Nope.”

 

Steve joins Bucky for his cigarette break that afternoon, much to Bucky’s surprise.

“Mind if I have one?” Steve asks, nodding towards the pack in Bucky’s hand.

“You smoke?”

“Not really.” Steve replies.

Bucky hands one over with a small, slightly confused smile on his face.

“I used to have really bad asthma as a kid.” Steve says absently. “I tried smoking one time when I was fifteen and practically hacked up a lung. Nearly had to be sent to the hospital. I grew out of it luckily.”

“Still shouldn’t be smoking though.”

Steve snorts. “Says you. You smoke like a chimney.”

Bucky shrugs. “Helps.”

And… Steve understands that. Having a crutch, something to hang onto when everything else feels like it’s splitting apart at the seams. He can hardly lecture someone for their self-destructive coping mechanisms when he’s such a mess himself. They make quite a pair really.

“How are you doing?” Steve asks.

“Okay.”

“You sure?”

“I mean, things could be better, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had worse.”

“You know that guy, Brock or—“

“Don’t.” Bucky snaps, his voice suddenly filled with venom.

“Okay. We don’t have to talk about him.”

Bucky nods. Steve notices absently that Bucky’s hands are shaking when he places his cigarette between his chapped lips.

“Sorry. It’s just— It’s just a bit of a sensitive topic at the moment.”

“You’re alright though? Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Bucky murmurs.

“Natasha is worried.”

A small smile appears on Bucky’s face. “She’s like a mother hen. You’d never think it, but I’ve known her for years, so I know. It just takes about half a decade to break through that iron shell.”

“Well, she certainly seems to care about you.”

Bucky looks down and toes at the ground, trying to hide the slight blush that blossoms on his cheeks.

“Look, I was thinking, maybe we could go out for a drink later? Just as friends of course. We could get Natasha to tag along?” 

Bucky shakes his head, not even giving it a moment’s thought. “I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Maybe some other time then?”

“Sure, Steve.”

 

Steve can’t sleep again. Rather than the usual anger and irritation, tonight he feels a dull acceptance, a sense of _I’m used to it, no point complaining._ He trails out of his bedroom wrapped in his comforter—the heating stopped working last night and it’s fucking freezing in the apartment—and sits on the couch. He huffs and looks around the room, looks at the sparse furnishing and the lack of effort he’s put into his décor. The only thing that really connects the room to him is the stack of paintings in the corner and the sketches he has covering the walls. Looking at them, his fingers begin to itch. He picks up his sketchbook and pencil from where they’re sitting on the side table and begins to draw. He has no plan in mind as to what he’s going to draw, but after a moment he realizes that he’s outlining the sharp line of a familiar jaw, sketching in glimmering eyes and plump, chapped lips. He’s unhappy with the way the long hair comes out, unhappy that he is unable to properly capture the wayward, yet stylish mess of it. He starts in on the column of his neck, begins to draw the tattoo coming up over his shoulder and down over his pectoral muscle. He has no idea if the tattoo goes that far, or if it does, if this is even what it looks like, but it comes out beautiful all the same. He shades, properly fills in Bucky’s features until the picture seems to come alive. He’s at it for a good couple of hours and when he’s finished, he stares down at his drawing and runs a hand through his hair. He’s so fucked. 

 

The next day at the coffee shop is quiet. Steve’s leaning over the counter reading the New York Times because the place is empty when Bucky storms in. He’s just had his lunch break and Steve wonders what could have made him so mad in so little time.

“That drink you mentioned?” Bucky says. “Lets go. Tonight.”

Steve nods, his eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Where were you thinking about going?”

“There’s an Irish pub a couple of blocks from here. Doherty’s.”

“Fine with me.”

“Are you okay, Buck?”

“I’m aces.” He says, sarcasm practically dripping from each word.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He says, popping the p.

Tonight, Steve thinks. Perhaps, if Bucky relaxes and lets his hair down a bit, he might finally tell Steve what is going on. He’s not going to take advantage of Bucky while he’s drunk, he’d never do that, but if Bucky is a little tipsy and starts fessing up to him, Steve isn’t going to stop him. 

 

The bar is crowded and loud, filled with men drinking beer and watching the football game. Steve only has to wait about five minutes for Bucky to show up. He looks good in black jeans and his peacoat, his hair down and windswept. He also looks nervous as hell.

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve calls out when Bucky doesn’t spot him right away.

Bucky seems to visibly relax, his shoulders falling from where they were hunched up, at the sound of Steve’s voice. He walks forward with his usual swagger and hops up onto the stall beside Steve, their shoulders brushing together from where he leans in slightly.

“What d’ya want?” Steve asks. “First round’s on me.”

"Whiskey please. Straight.”

Steve calls the barman over and orders Bucky’s drink and a beer for himself. They sit in amiable silence for a minute and then Bucky turns to look at him, their faces closer together than is probably appropriate for friends. Which, they are now? Steve thinks. He’s amazed to notice that Bucky’s eyes are not actually blue, but grey. They’re beautiful.

“Why are you doing this? Why’d you suddenly want to hang out?”

“Because I think you need it. And so does Natasha.”

Bucky nods. “It’s honestly not as bad as you think. I’m just having a rough week.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Pal, you need to stop asking me that before I start throwing punches. All I want is to escape for a little while, okay? I want to forget.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then, his voice suddenly shifting to his usual playful tone, he says, “So, Stevie. How much alcohol can you handle?”

Steve snorts, the tension between them dissipating. “Probably a lot less than you.”

“Mm, I bet. You’re too skinny.”

“I’m not skinny!”

“Yes you are. Sure, you’ve got muscles—I ain’t gonna deny that—but you’re pretty slim otherwise.”

Steve huffs. “Look, most of us aren’t built like you are. I ain’t skinny by any means.”

“Look at your legs.”

“Yeah, and looks at yours! They’re like— Like the thighs of fucking betrayal or something. Thunder thighs.”

Steve has no idea why he said that, or even where it’d come from. It doesn't even make any sense really.

Bucky quirks his eyebrows at him. “Thighs of betrayal? Are you drunk already?”

Steve drops his face in his hands feeling completely mortified. “I really wish I was.”

Bucky laughs loudly, and when Steve peers from over his fingers, he’s delighted to see Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown back. It’s the first time Steve’s seen him happy for a while; it looks good on him. Steve thinks he’d give anything to keep that look on his face, and if that doesn’t say something about Steve’s current predicament… 

“I’m never gonna let that one go. Just so you know.” Bucky chuckles, knocking their shoulders together and smiling widely.

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

Two hours later, Steve and Bucky are feeling pleasantly buzzed and are walking along the waterfront. Bucky’s face is flushed and it’s one of the only times Steve has seen him looking somewhat healthy. It’s nice.

“So, I was ordering my coffee and the barista says something. I can’t understand what he’s saying properly, but it sounds like “What’s your name?” So, I tell him and he just looks at me blankly. Turns out he was asking whether I was staying in the café or taking it away. I was so embarrassed. Natasha thought it was hilarious. She teased me for days.”

Steve laughs and bumps their shoulders together. “Poor, Bucky.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve, but there’s no malice in it. After a moment, his expression suddenly softens and he leans against Steve’s side. “Thanks for this, Stevie. Really. I needed this.”

“Anytime, pal.”

“It— It means a lot.” Bucky says thickly.

Steve looks down at him with a frown, noticing unhappily that Bucky’s eyes are glassy. “What’s wrong, Bucky? Please tell me.”

“I— I can’t. Please, Steve.”

“You don’t need to tell me everything, but maybe there’s something I can help you with, something small.”

“I just get sad a lot. That’s all. I can’t do anything about it, it always passes. It’s just something I have to live with.”

“Like, depression kind of sad?”

Bucky nods. “Sort of. It’s bipolar actually. I’ve had it since I was a teenager. I keep thinking I’ll get better at dealing with it, but I never do.”

Steve stops walking and pulls Bucky into his arms. He knows how difficult that must have been to say. “You’re doing the best you can.”

“I’m not so sure.”

"Stop beating yourself up. This isn't something you can control. Not fully anyway."

Bucky tilts his head up and presses a gentle kiss to the hinge of Steve's jaw. "You're too good, Stevie."

Steve laughs self-deprecatingly. He has butterflies in his stomach from the feel of Bucky's lips against his skin and has to suppress a shiver. "That's not true."

"No, you are. You're trying to help me even though I don't deserve it. I've been nothing but a jerk to you."

"Not recently."

"That's because I like you now." Bucky says with a laugh.

"I like you too."

Bucky pulls back at that and looks Steve in the eye. "Really?"

"Of course, Buck. How could I not?"

Bucky's eyes fill with tears again and Steve makes a sad clucking sound in the back of his throat. "I don't know who it is that's hurt you so badly, if it's Brock or someone else, or if it's just the bipolar disorder, but you don't deserve it. You deserve better, Buck."

Bucky turns away from Steve at that and Steve notices that his shoulders have started to shake. Steve steps forward and wraps his arms around Bucky from behind. He doesn't know if it's appropriate, they're barely even friends, but Bucky leans into it with a whimper.

"It's okay, Buck. I've got you now. I've got you." Steve says.

It's quiet for a moment, and then Bucky whispers, "I don't regret the kiss, by the way." 

Steve swallows thickly. "You don't?"

Bucky shakes his head. "We can't do it again, but I don't regret it. Just in case you were feeling guilty or something. Natasha said you feel guilty a lot, about everything."

"I don't regret it either. If that makes any difference."

"I wish it did. I just— I  _can't."_

"It's okay, Buck. We're friends. That's it, alright? There's no pressure, no expectations."

Bucky shakes himself out of Steve's arms and turns around. "Thank you."

Steve smiles at him. "You don't need to say that, but you're welcome."

"I oughta go. It's getting late." 

"Okay."

"I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

Steve nods. "Of course."

 

Steve sleeps that night and when he does, he dreams of gleaming, grey eyes and long, dark hair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just cute boys being cute

"Hey, Steve!" Bucky calls out as Steve enters the coffee shop for his Wednesday afternoon shift. His lips are upturned in a wide grin and Steve can't help but smile back as he unwinds his scarf; Bucky's good mood is infectious. "Yeah?" 

"D'ya wanna come to movie night at Nat's place on Friday? There'll be pizza and beer."

"I'd love to, Buck." Steve says, moving towards the backroom so he can change from his coat into his apron.

"Awesome." Bucky replies, following Steve like a puppy. "Nat wants to watch a horror movie if that's alright with you."

Steve looks over his shoulder to make sure Bucky's not leaving the front without anyone to serve. Luckily Natasha's cleaning tables in the far corner; it wouldn't be the first time Bucky had abandoned the shop, leaving Steve and Natasha to deal with a long line of angry customers afterwards.

Steve's stomach drops at the mention of a horror movie. He's terrified of them. He keeps his smile on his face though because he has a feeling that if he says no, Bucky will be disappointed. Steve's a grown ass man. He can handle a scary goddamn movie. 

"Sure. I love horror movies."

Bucky smirks. He can clearly see the lie for what it is, but he doesn't call Steve on it. 

"Shouldn't you be working?" Steve asks.

"Nah. Nat said I could go on my break once you got here." 

"And you're wasting your time back here with me?"

Bucky huffs. "It's too fucking cold outside. I'll freeze my dick off. I'm gonna sit out the front and get you to serve me some coffee instead." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "You can get your own damn coffee."

"I'm on my break, Stevie." He says, following Steve back out to the front. He leans over the counter and bats his eyelashes. "I'm a paying customer."

"Buck, you get free coffee."

Bucky screws his nose up and it's honestly one of the cutest things Steve thinks he's ever seen.  _"Please,_ Stevie. I've been making coffee all day. I want someone else to make me one."

"Fine."

Bucky grins so widely that Steve's sure it has to be hurting his face. It's fucking beautiful. "Love you, Stevie."

And, he really can't help it. He's always been a blusher. His face heats up immediately at the words and he looks down bashfully. It's embarrassing, and it only gets worse when he looks up and sees the humour lighting up Bucky's face. "What?"

"You're blushing."

"No I'm not." Steve says, because he's always been stubborn.

"Yes you are. No need to get all shy on me, pal."

"You're an asshole and I hate you."

Bucky throws his head back with laughter and Steve can't help but smile. "I'm a fucking joy to be around. Don't even lie."

Steve hums. "You're alright I guess."

"Boys!" Natasha yells suddenly, the bubble that had been surrounding the two of them bursting. "There's a line. Stop flirting and get to work. I'm not paying you for this crap."

"Yes, ma'am." Steve says at the time that Bucky yells, "We weren't flirting! And I'm on my break!"

"Yeah well, Steve isn't. Stop distracting him and drink your damn coffee over there."

Bucky mopes his way to one of the couches on the opposite side, grumbling the whole time. Steve can't help but laugh. He looks over to Natasha and watches as she stares fondly at Bucky. She walks up to him and whispers, "I'm glad you two are friends. It's good for him. I don't think he feels like he can talk to me. Just... look after him, will you?"

"I'll try my best, Nat."

 

“So, you seem happier.” Sam says over the phone that evening. They’ve not managed to meet up recently, so they’ve been catching up via phone call every other day or so. It’s uncanny how Sam can tell Steve’s mood has changed just by the sound of his voice. He supposes it is testament to how long they’ve known each other. Sam knows him better than anybody, has been with Steve through everything.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You wanna tell me why? I haven’t heard you sounding this good in months.”

“There’s not really anything to tell.”

“You met a girl? A guy?”

“Kind of. You remember that guy from work?”

“The one you hate?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, that one. We’ve been hanging out recently. Turns out I was kind of being an asshole too, because he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“This is also the guy you happened to kiss a few weeks ago, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“That have something to do with the good mood then maybe? You kiss him, start hanging out…”

“No.” _Definitely not._

“I think somebody has a crush.”

“Shut up, Sam. No I don’t.”

“You sure about that?”

“Look, how many times—it was the _kiss cam._ It’s never gonna happen again.”

“But do you want it to?”

Steve goes quiet for a moment. He wants to lie, but it’s Sam. He’s never been able to keep anything from him. “Kind of. I don’t know.”

“Does he want it to?”

“He said he doesn’t regret it. But he also said it can’t happen again. I think he’s got something going on with another guy.”

"Sorry, man. That blows."

Steve chews on a hard bit of skin on his thumb and shrugs, despite the fact Sam isn't there to see it. "It's not like I'm in love with the guy. I'll be fine."

"I know you will."

 

Bucky's wearing a tight white t-shirt the next day and Steve can't... stop... staring. He'd thought Bucky—with his messy hair, stubbled cheeks, and tattoo—was attractive before, but that's nothing compared to what he thinks of him now. Steve finds himself getting distracted all day, staring at his muscles, his smile, and that goddamn tattoo. He wants to touch him, kiss him, bring him so high that he never wants to come down. He manages to mess up an order more than once, pour coffee all over himself, and trip over onto his ass. Bucky spends the whole day laughing at him, obviously completely oblivious to Steve's predicament. At lunch he asks for one of Bucky's cigarettes and sucks on it like a lifeline, Bucky staring at him with a bemused smile. _"You alright there, buddy?"_ He'd asked. Steve could only nod. He was drowning, drowning in the depths of Bucky's beautiful grey eyes, drowning in all the emotions that just won't stay buried. He's going to die, because as much as he wants Bucky, as much as he thinks Bucky might want him too, he knows he can't do anything about it. Bucky made it perfectly clear the other night. And it  _kills him._ He doesn't know how he's supposed to spend every day around the guy, be friends with him, when all he wants to do is kiss him. He thinks it might be one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. It's a cruel fate—the one person he actually likes, is unavailable. But, that's just Steve's luck, isn't it? He wouldn't be Steve Rogers if the world wasn't beating him down. 

 

When Steve gets to Natasha’s, it’s Bucky that answers the door. He looks down at the beer Steve’s holding and grins. “Is that for me?”

Steve snorts. “Nope. It’s for everybody except you.”

Bucky pouts. “Stop being a dick.”

“Are you gonna let me in?”

“Depends. What’s the magic word?”

“Please?”

“Uh uh.”

“Will you let me in if I give you the beer?”

Bucky smirks. “Maybe.”

Steve rolls his eyes and barges in, knocking Bucky into the wall. “Ow! Stop being such a punk.”

“Stop being such a jerk then.”

“What the hell are you two doing?” Natasha says, her head poking around the doorway of one of the rooms.

“Steve pushed me.”

 _“Boys,”_ Natasha groans. “You’re such goddamn children. I need to find girl friends.”

Bucky laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You hate girls. And you love us.”

“Just close the door and come inside.”

Steve nods, shoving Bucky again the moment Natasha disappears.

“Stop it you little shit!” Bucky says as they start to wrestle, the beer placed on the floor. Their limbs tangle until they’re balancing precariously against the wall, Steve plastered to Bucky’s front and practically smothering him. The heat of Bucky’s body against him is wonderful and Steve has to fight the urge to start rubbing against him, to press his face into Bucky’s neck and start marking him as his own.

“Come on tough guy. If I’m as skinny as you said, I should be easy to take.” He says.

“You’re a fucking dirty fighter.” Bucky replies as he pushes Steve back.

“I told you, I was a scrawny kid. I had to fight dirty if I was gonna get any punches in.”

Bucky reaches out and pushes a wayward strand of hair off Steve’s forehead. It’s a weirdly intimate gesture, and Steve swallows against the lump that has risen in his throat. “If I’d known you when you were younger, I could’ve taught you how to fight properly.”

Steve snorts. “Like that would’ve done any good. I was ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“Well, I would’ve had your back, wouldn’t I? They wouldn’t’ve been able to take both of us. Not with my mad skills.” Bucky says, a serious look on his face.

Steve can’t help but burst into laughter. “One day you’re gonna have to show me these mad skills.”

“I’ll have you know I’m trained in martial arts. Tai Chi, Capoeira. Done it since kindergarten. I could’ve hurt them for you, Stevie.”

“I never would’ve let you. I was too proud for that. Steve Rogers didn’t need a knight in shining armour.”

Bucky snorts. “Oh, I bet he didn’t. I bet you kicked all their asses, huh?”

Steve can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think I won a single fight.”

Bucky frowns at that. “They were all assholes, Steve. You’re worth more than the whole damn bunch.”

Steve smiles at him dopily and reaches out to squeeze Bucky’s arm. “Thanks, pal.”

“Boys!” Natasha yells from the other room.

“We should head in there.” Steve says, picking up the beer again. “Natasha’s gonna have an aneurism if we don’t hurry up.”

"Okay. Come on. I'll introduce you to Clint."

"Who's Clint?" 

"Nat's Fiancé. Duh."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead at that. _Fiancé?_  

He stands close to Bucky when they enter the living room, suddenly nervous now that there is a stranger involved. They're sat together on the armchair, Natasha on the lap of a blond man who he presumes it Clint, both eating massive slices of pizza. Clint smiles up at them and waves.

"Steve, right?"

"Yeah. It's nice to meet you."

"You too, man. Nat and Bucky have told me a lot about you."

"Only good things I hope."

Bucky turns to him with a smirk, and Steve knows instantly that that's probably not the case. Steve sighs and elbows him in the side. He scowls at Steve, but there's no malice there, just playfulness.

"Help yourself to pizza. And I see you've brought beer." Natasha says.

"Yeah, didn't want to turn up empty handed."

"A man after my own heart." Clint says with a wide smile on his face.

Steve and Bucky collapse down onto the couch and grab a slice, their shoulders and knees knocking. 

"Put the DVD on, James. I've left it in front of the DVD player."

"But Nat, I've just sat down." Bucky whines.

"I don't care. Put the damn movie on."

"I'll do it." Steve says.

"My hero." Bucky sighs breathily, his hand moving over his heart like the dork he is. And yeah, Steve definitely has a crush.

 

About twenty minutes into it, Steve feels like he's dying. He's terrified, has even started shaking a little bit, but he's trying to remain stoic. He's apparently not fooling Bucky though. Not for a minute.

"Come 'ere, Stevie." Bucky says, his arms reaching out, when Steve jumps for what must be the twentieth time.

Steve sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and looks over to Natasha. She's still curled up in Clint's lap, her eyes transfixed on the screen. She's not paying them any attention whatsoever. Steve shuffles over nervously and leans against Bucky's side, sighing when an arm is wrapped around his shoulders. Bucky smells fucking amazing—like... peppermint, cologne, and something that's uniquely Bucky. He can tell that he's just showered because there's also that underlying clean smell that reminds Steve of fresh, crisp sheets and cold mornings.

It's strange being the one enveloped in an embrace; Steve has always been the one to hold, the one to protect. Bucky's larger arms wrapped around him make him feel so  _safe._ It feels like nothing in the world will ever be able to hurt him as long as he can stay here. That's something he never got when he was dating girls, and Steve realises now that perhaps this is what he's been after, this is why it'd never really worked. He's so used to being the strong one—maybe all he needs is to feel small for a little while. 

"Better?" Bucky whispers, his lips so unexpectedly close to Steve's ear that it makes him shiver.

"Mhm." Steve murmurs.

As the movie continues playing, Bucky's hand slips down to Steve's back and begins to rub large, comforting circles. Steve finds himself melting against Bucky's larger body and wraps an arm across his waist. 

"You're warm." Bucky says quietly.

"So are you."

And he is. Warmer in more ways than one. Warmer than he thinks he's ever been. He looks up, surprised to find Bucky already looking at him, and smiles. He knows what Bucky said, but he can't help but look at his lips anyway. He notices the way his Adam's apple bobs, glances up to see Bucky staring at his lips too. He's so tempted to kiss him. He wants it with every sliver and every fibre of his being, but he's not going to go against Bucky's wishes. He knows there's something going on, that he won't kiss him for a reason. Steve promised, and he's not going to do anything to break his trust. 

"Steve..." Bucky whispers.

"What?"

"I— I..."

"Aww, look at you two. Are you scared Steve?" Natasha teases.

Steve swallows thickly and reluctantly looks away from Bucky. He wants to know what he was trying to say, but the moment's gone. 

"Stevie doesn't like horror movies." Bucky says with a smirk.

"What? A big boy like you?" Clint adds.

"Hey, hey! You can't say anything, Barton. You nearly shat yourself watching _The Ring_ last week."

Clint scowls at Bucky and pulls Natasha closer. "Yeah, well. That one was fucking scary."

 

Steve wakes up a couple of hours later, surprised to find the living room dark and the armchair empty. He’s lying on his side on the couch under a blanket, Bucky pressed against him from head to toe. He looks down and finds Bucky fast asleep with his face buried in Steve’s shoulder, drooling on his favourite sweater. He’s making small whimpering noises, his hand clenching and unclenching on Steve’s waist, and he seems to be trying to push himself even closer to Steve’s body, if that’s physically possible. It takes Steve a couple of minutes to realize that Bucky’s having a nightmare.

“Buck,” He whispers, shaking at his shoulder. “Come on, buddy. Wake up.”

Bucky doesn’t stir at first, just keeps pushing closer, but after a moment or two of coaxing, his eyes slowly blink open, his long eyelashes fanning, and the small noises stop. He looks disorientated for only a moment before his eyes settle on Steve’s face. He smiles softly and it’s like all the breath has been punched from Steve’s chest.

“You were having a nightmare.” Steve murmurs quietly.

Bucky frowns and asks, his voice thick with sleep, “I didn’t… say anything, did I?”

“No, Buck. Nothing I could make out.”

Bucky looks up at Steve with wide eyes, bright even in the darkness, and chews on his bottom lip. “It’s late.”

Steve nods. “I know.”

“I was gonna wake you up when the movie finished, but I guess I fell asleep too.”

“Do you think Natasha will mind?” He presumes it’s her that covered them with the afghan.

“Nah, I stay over all the time. She's probably taken a picture of us though, just to warn you.”

Steve laughs, pulling Bucky closer to him without thinking. “I’m guessing that’ll end up on Facebook then.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Hey, Buck?” Steve says a moment later.

“Yeah?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

Bucky goes rigid in his arms for a moment, but settles again once Steve starts rubbing at his back. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Steve swallows thickly. He wishes he knew how to help. He can feel a residing tension in Bucky’s body, so without thinking, because it’s what he Ma used to do to him, he pulls out Bucky’s hair tie and runs his fingers through his hair and scratches at his scalp. Bucky practically purrs at the attention, his body arching closer to Steve and his eyes fluttering shut. Steve can't help but wonder how much affection Bucky actually receives. Based on the hungry noises he's making, it's probably not a lot. It's like the guy's touch-starved, craving tenderness, craving Steve's hands on him.

“That feel good, Buck?” Steve murmurs quietly.

“Mhm.”

"Are you okay? You want me to stop?"

"No. _Please."_

"Alright. I've got you." Steve can't help it. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his temple, letting his lips linger for a moment.

"Stevie—"

"Sorry."

"No. Just— Can you kiss my neck?" Bucky asks, his voice shaking slightly.

Steve doesn't even answer, just leans down and kisses him like he's been dreaming about all week. He sucks gently at the spot just below his ear and smiles when Bucky whimpers, pressing his face even further into Steve's shoulder. "Tell me when you want me to stop."

 _"Never."_ Bucky sighs.

Steve doesn't know what that means, doesn't know why Bucky is asking him to do this, wonders if in the morning Bucky's going to regret it. Steve knows he certainly won't. If he could spend every night doing this and only this, he would. And that's the crux of it really, isn't it? Steve's falling further and further, whilst Bucky remains just out of reach. He can want Bucky, dream about him, but he can't do anything, not really. And it hurts. It hurts so much.

Steve kisses him and kisses him, lets Bucky's scent fill his nostrils until he's dizzy with it, listens to Bucky's sighs and moans. He licks and nibbles and sucks. He keeps going and he doesn't want to stop, never wants to stop giving Bucky this pleasure. And that... that's dangerous. That's so damn dangerous.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been to the club mentioned in this chapter, so if there's any discrepancies, that's the reason.  
> I'm really unsure of this chapter, so please let me know what you think! Good or bad reviews are very welcome.

“I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. It wasn’t fair.” Bucky says on Monday morning. He’s stood against the outside of the coffee shop with a cigarette hanging from his mouth just like every other day, one leg bent at the knee with his foot against the wall. Steve stands beside him and takes the cigarette when it’s offered to him, inhaling the smoke deeply before passing it back.

“You'd just woken up from a nightmare. You were vulnerable.” Steve shrugs. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”

Bucky turns to him with a frown. “I wanted you to do it, Steve. You weren’t taking advantage of nothin’.”

“So, why are we talking about it then?”

“Because it shouldn’t have happened. It can’t happen again either.”

“I know, Buck.”

It goes silent for a moment and then Bucky turns to look at Steve, his face close and his breath warm on Steve’s cheek. “You look like shit.”

“Well, jeez… thanks, Buck!” Steve laughs.

“Seriously though. Are you okay?”

“Just haven’t had a lot of sleep recently.”

“That happen a lot?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, since my mother died. I used to sleep like a baby, but then…”

“Steve, that was years ago.”

“I know.”

“Please tell me you haven’t been hanging out at that diner again.”

“It’s better than sitting at home wallowing.” Steve says defensively.

Bucky smiles sympathetically and says, “You could always call me, y’know. I’ll probably be awake too.”

“Nah, I ain’t gonna call you at three a.m., man. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re kind of a hypocrite. Y’know that?”

Steve looks down, his face flushing. “I know.” Because he always has been—he never has been able to take his own advice.

“I know you’re not okay neither. You’re always trying to help everyone else, fix their problems and shit, but you won’t let anyone help you.”

“Buck, please—“

“Just… take my number, will you? Just in case.”

“Okay. But only for emergencies.”

Bucky shrugs. ”You can call me anytime.”

“You too, Buck.”

  

“You, me, club, this Saturday.” Sam says the second Steve picks up the phone.

“Which one? And also, _why?”_ Steve sighs.

“Output, duh. Because, my dear friend, my boss is an asshole and I need a night out, and—preferably—to get laid.”

“So you need a wingman?”

Sam bursts into laughter. “No offence man, but I think I’d do better by myself. Do you remember last time you tried to help me out?”

“Look, saying ‘no offence’ does not make it any less offensive. And I told you I was feelin’ sick before we went—it was completely your fault.”

“Whatever. So, you up for it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a sourpuss. It’ll be fun.”

“For you maybe.” Steve murmurs lowly.

“When’s the last time we met up, huh? You saying you don’t wanna meet up with your best buddy? Are you really gonna leave me in the cold like that, you asshole?” Sam teases.

“I’ve already said I’ll go!”

“Alright, princess. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Steve hates him.

 

It’s raining heavily by the end of their shift on Thursday evening. It’s dark and gloomy and everything Steve hates about the winter. Sure, he loves how cozy it is inside, loves wearing warm sweaters and snuggling under a blanket with hot cocoa at night. But he also hates the reminder of those cold winters when he was younger, when his mother sat and cried by his bedside because she wasn’t sure whether he’d make it through another night. He still gets nervous going outside when the weather’s like this because years ago he would’ve caught pneumonia or hyperthermia or something. The caution is ingrained in him now, his mother’s soft words of warning ringing through his ears. _Don’t go out at recess,_ she’d tell him before school. _Make sure you’ve zipped your coat all the way to the top and cover your neck with your scarf. If I see that hat off your head, mister…_ As he wraps his scarf around his neck now, staring out the window, he feels someone tap at his shoulder. He’s brought out of his reverie and smiles when he looks down and sees that it’s Bucky.

“Uh, Steve…” He starts timidly, “You live close by, right?”

“A couple blocks. Why?”

“Can I go back to yours for a bit? Just until the rain’s let up.” Bucky asks, his words coming out so quick that they all run into each other. “My apartment is like half an hour away and I think I might die.”

“Sure.” Steve laughs.

“Okay. Thanks, man. I’ll go get my stuff.”

“You two certainly seem to be getting along.” Natasha says, creeping up behind him and making him jump.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I haven’t seen James look so happy in a long time.”

“I doubt that’s anything to do with me.” Steve says, watching as Natasha wipes the counters down.

“Give yourself a bit of credit, Steve. Do you really think it’s a coincidence that he’s been doing better since you started hanging out?”

“But, I haven’t done anything…”

“That’s not true. James doesn’t hang out with people very often. He spends most of his time alone in his apartment feeling sorry for himself. You’ve managed to get him out and about a bit. For him, that’s a huge deal. Honestly.”

“Is that because of…” Steve begins, but then slams his mouth shut when he realizes that Natasha might not know about Bucky’s disorder.

Natasha frowns at him. “Because of what?”

“I’m ready!” Bucky says, smiling widely as he comes out of the backroom. He throws an arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulls him tightly against his side. Steve doesn’t know why he does it, but he’s certainly not going to complain. 

They run home with grim faces and practically fall over in their haste to get into the apartment. They fall into a fit of laughter once the door is closed, leaning against one another as they get their breath back.

“I gotta get outta these clothes.” Steve says after a moment.

Bucky smirks at him. Of course. “That’s a bit forward, isn’t it? We only just got here, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head, exasperated, but amused. “D’ya want something to change in to too? You’re soaked.”

“Yeah, if that’s alright with you.”

They walk together to the bedroom, Bucky lagging behind as he lets his eyes traverse the apartment. “You just moved in?” He asks.

“No, I’ve been here since my Ma died. Couldn’t afford the two-bedroom.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… It kinda looks like you just moved in. You ain’t got any photos or books or shit anywhere.”

Steve laughs. “I’m just a guy of simple tastes, I guess.”

They enter the bedroom and Steve feels his lower belly tighten when he turns to look at Bucky, looks at the way his hair is stuck to his forehead and cheeks, watches as the rain droplets run down his face. One droplet falls to his mouth and Bucky’s tongue sticks out as he swipes it from his lips. Steve gulps.

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Clothes?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He says, stepping forward and rummaging through his drawers for something he thinks will fit Bucky. “Are these alright?” He asks, holding up a pair of charcoal grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Perfect.” Bucky replies.

Steve’s surprised to say the least when Bucky starts stripping down then and there. He watches as his coat comes off, then the red Henley and then the white vest he’s wearing underneath. Steve’s mouth fills with saliva as he takes in Bucky’s beautiful olive-skinned torso, his muscles cut sharply across his chest and stomach. Bucky looks up and Steve turns away quickly, grabs his own clothes to change into and moves to the other side of the bed. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he begins to take off his own clothes and is helpless to meet his gaze. The sexual tension in the room is thick and hot, and Steve watches as Bucky’s hands clench and unclench into fists. Steve wants to dive across the bed and grab him, kiss all over that torso, dip his tongue in between those muscles. He meets Bucky's eyes and notices just how dark they've gotten, visible even across the few feet that's between them.

“Steve—“ Bucky murmurs.

"Mhm?" Steve replies, looking away as he finishes changing into his own t-shirt and sweatpants. "I'm just gonna... go out there. You can finish getting dressed in here."

Bucky's throat bobs and he nods shortly at Steve. "Okay."

Steve rushes to the kitchen and leans against the counter. He takes a few deep breaths and runs his hands through his hair, tugs on the strands. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, knows his face must be flushed. He shakes his head, tells himself to get a grip, and walks into the living room. He looks at Bucky now splayed out on his couch and wonders why he's tempting the beast. He looks so relaxed and at home, gorgeous in Steve's clothes _._  It's like he belongs there—an integral part of Steve's home, of his life. He can't help but wonder how this man managed to become so important to him in so little time, how he's gone from hating the guy to liking him so much that sometimes it hurts. He looks so soft and cuddly right now and Steve sighs as he stands and looks at him.

"You want a drink or anything?" Steve asks him.

"Nah, I'm alright."

Steve nods and sits down beside him, their shoulders and knees bumping. Their thighs press snugly against one another and Steve thinks about moving, but when Bucky sinks against Steve's side, he stays put.

"You wanna hangout this Saturday?" Bucky asks. "We could go to Doherty's again."

"I've gotta go to Output this Saturday with Sam."

"You don't sound very happy about it." Bucky snorts.

"I don't like clubbing. It's too loud."

"Really? I love it. Gets me out of my head, y'know?"

"You wanna come?" Steve says without thinking. He hopes Sam will be okay with him asking someone else to join them on their night out, especially considering they haven't actually seen each other in about three weeks now.

"Seriously?"

"I mean, yeah. If you want."

"Your friend won't mind?"

"Nah, Sam's cool. I'd actually love it if you came. Sam'll probably find some girl and leave me at the end of the night anyway."

Bucky laughs. "Who's to say I won't find a nice guy to go home with."

Steve is flustered for a moment and Bucky starts laughing even louder than before. "That's fine."

Bucky shoves him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'd never ditch you, Stevie. You're my best guy, right?"

Steve smiles so widely it almost hurts. 

 

When they enter the club the bass is heavy and slow, Martin Garrix's _Animals_ playing so loudly that Steve can't hear himself think. The neon lasers are casting the room in streams of colour, illuminating the dancers in a way that seems ethereal. 

"You wanna get a drink?" Sam asks. 

Steve nods. He follows Sam and feels his breath stutter in his chest when Bucky places a hand on his lower back, following behind so closely that Steve can practically feel his breath on the back of his neck. 

They knock back their vodka shots and after weaving through the crowd, they somehow manage to find a booth in the far corner. Steve and Bucky sit down side by side, whilst Sam wanders off into the crowd in search of a girl to dance with. They barely notice that he's gone, their eyes locked fiercely on each other. 

"You wanna dance, Stevie?" Bucky asks

Steve shakes his head fervently. "I can't dance."

"I don't believe that. You're just trying to get out of it."

"No, seriously."

The next thing Steve knows, Bucky is dragging him onto the dance floor and pulling him close, his arms winding around Steve's neck.

"Buck, I told you, I can't dance." Steve yells.

"Yeah well, I can. Just follow my lead." He replies as he begins to move his hips sinuously to the music. Paul Oakenfold's radio edit of ZZ Ward's _Move Like You Stole It_ is blaring from the speakers, the whole floor shaking with it. 

"I really don't know what I'm doing. Please can we just stop." Steve says, glancing away in embarrassment. 

Bucky slides one hand up and fists the hair at the nape of Steve's neck. He yanks on it until Steve is looking at him, their eyes locking. "Just look at me. It's just us, okay?"

Steve nods minutely and takes a deep breath, tries his best to smile. He moves his hips experimentally, but it's stiff and uncoordinated—nothing compared to the way Bucky moves. Bucky's hands slide down Steve's sides, making him shiver, and settle on his hips. He guides Steve slowly at first, out of sync to the music, and gradually builds him up to speed. Steve's still struggling though and is getting more and more aggravated by the minute.

"This isn't working." He huffs.

"Wait. Let's try something else." Bucky says. He pulls Steve forward until they're pressed from knee to chest, and slides a leg between Steve's own. This time when he starts to roll his hips, Steve moves with him instinctively. He's pretty sure this isn't dancing anymore—they're just grinding, rubbing up against each other's slightly sweaty bodies. It feels fucking amazing.

"Buck—"

"Shh... Just dance with me, Stevie." He whispers in Steve's ear, his hands moving from his hips and starting to roam all over his back and shoulders. Steve can hear Bucky's breath quickening, feel his heart race. He knows Bucky must be noticing the same things because Steve feels like he can't breathe, like his heart is ready to beat straight out of his chest and into Bucky's. "That's it, baby." Bucky murmurs, suddenly flipping Steve around and grinding against him from behind, his half hard dick rubbing firmly against Steve's ass. Their hips roll together for only a couple minutes before Bucky starts biting at his neck, sucking on it, claiming Steve as his own. Steve turns his head and suddenly they're kissing, open mouthed and hungry. Bucky fucks his tongue into Steve's mouth and Steve shakes with the pleasure of it, slides one hand up and into Bucky's hair whilst the other wraps around the back of Bucky's muscular upper thigh.

"I thought you said we couldn't do this." Steve gasps out as they break apart.

"Shut up, Steve." Bucky replies.

Steve drags Bucky outside and down the side into the alleyway. He pushes Bucky against the wall and smothers him with his body, their faces only a couple of inches apart. He leans forwards and presses his lips to that spot just below Bucky's ear that'd made him whimper last week, and, sure enough, he starts whining, his hands pawing at Steve's back. Steve pushes his hands beneath Bucky's tight black t-shirt and roams over his torso, thumbs at his nipples until Bucky is rocking his hips up against him and gasping hotly in his ear. 

"Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me. 'Cause Buck, I'm going fucking crazy over here."

"I do."

"You gotta tell me. You're not with anyone, are you?"

"No. Kind of. It's complicated."

"What do you mean? I can't do this if you are."

"We're not together, not like that. I promise."

"Then what's going on? Please tell me."

"I _can't._ Just— _please..._ don't stop touching me."

Steve looks at him desperately for a moment and then dives in for more, their mouths opening under each other, their tongues twisting in a dance so erotic that it has his knees going weak, his legs threatening to collapse beneath him.

"God,  _Steve."_ Bucky moans between kisses.

"I want you. I want you so bad." Steve moans back.

Bucky presses forward roughly, bites at Steve's lips and fists Steve's hair. He writhes when Steve pushes him flat against the wall and rubs against him, whining openly into the cold night air. His kisses are intoxicating. They're driving Steve completely insane. He just wants more, more, more.

"Can I take you home?" Steve practically begs.

Bucky pushes Steve back lightly, panting heavily as he stares at him with wide eyes. "No. I can't. We gotta— I gotta stop." 

"Are you—?" 

"I'm sorry. I want to, I really do, but I know I'll regret it in the morning."

Steve steps back—he feels like he's just been slapped in the face. Bucky pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, takes one and quickly lights up. His hands are shaking badly, and that's only partly because of the cold air against his overheated skin. 

"Is this because of Brock?" 

"Don't—" Bucky warns.

"You've gotta stop stringing me along, Buck."

Bucky laughs brokenly, and with a nod, starts to walk away. Steve is quick to catch up to him and grabs his arm probably a little too tightly. He doesn't mean it. Bucky flinches, cowering down slightly as if he's about to be hit. Steve's horrified. He immediately lets go and pulls Bucky into a hug. "It's okay, Bucky. I'm not mad. I promise."

"It's all my fault. I'm a fuck up." Bucky whispers against Steve's chest.

"No, you're not."

"I'm not trying to string you along. I promise. I just— I really like you, Steve. But, Brock is... He's... I'm stuck with him. Alright?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I can't explain it. He's not my boyfriend, if that's what you've been thinking. But I still— I just can't. Okay?"

Steve is silent for a second, just rocking Bucky from side to side, and then he says, "I really like you too, Buck. So much."

Bucky whimpers. "You're not supposed to say that."

"I think about you all the time. Ever since that kiss at the baseball game."

"That was ages ago, and it was just the kiss cam. I thought you hated me back then."

"So did I until we kissed."

"Y'know, I think I've had a crush on you ever since we met."

Steve steps back at that, his hands on Bucky's shoulders as he stares at him. "Are you serious?"

Bucky nods sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

"But... I always thought you hated me. You were always so... grumpy. It was like I constantly pissed you off."

"You did. I couldn't stop thinking about you, but it seemed like you hated me, so I hated you back."

Steve laughs and pulls Bucky back into a hug. "We've been so stupid, Buck."

"I wanna go home with you so bad." Bucky says, his hands running down Steve's back until he can cup his ass and his head dipping so he can press a gentle kiss to his neck. "I really wish I could."

"What if we just went back and talked? You could stay over. We don't have to do anything."

"Okay. Just tonight though."

 

"Which side of the bed d'ya want, Buck?" Steve asks. He's just in his sweatpants now, glasses on his face because he's taken his contact lenses out. Bucky won't stop staring at him. "What?"

"I have a massive thing for Clark Kent and this is really doing it for me right now." He says thinly.

Steve lets his eyes drop down Bucky's torso and notices the quite visible tent in his underwear. Steve flushes. "Sorry. I'll take them off."

"Thank you. And the right side's fine, unless you usually take that side." 

"No, I usually sleep on the left."

Bucky smiles at him and it's almost—dare he say it—loving."We fit." He murmurs.

"Yeah, Buck."

They slide into bed together, Steve placing his glasses on the bedside table, and curl up. Steve wraps himself around Bucky's body, pulls him closer until it's difficult to tell where one body begins and the other ends. 

"You smell nice." Bucky sighs. 

Steve laughs. "I smell like sweat."

"I remember reading something once... Apparently, if someone's sweat smells nice, it means you're compatible, that you love them." Bucky whispers.

"Hm. Well, it's a good thing you smell good too then, isn't it?"

Bucky grabs hold of Steve's arm and pulls it tighter around him, kissing the knuckles gently as he intertwines their fingers. "Night, Stevie."

"Goodnight, Buck."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not particularly happy with this chapter and it's been driving me up the wall, so I'll probably end up changing some of it. 
> 
> Anyway, here you are! I hope you enjoy it!

The next morning, Steve is woken by the sound of a shrilly alarm clock. He groans loudly and swats at the nightstand in search of his phone.

“It’s mine, Steve.” A deep, slurred voice says. And, that’s right, _Bucky._ His body heat disappears for a moment before the alarm is turned off, and then Bucky curls back up to Steve, resting his head on his bare chest and throwing an arm over his waist.

“Do you have work this morning?” Steve asks, running a hand through Bucky’s long hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck until Bucky is completely melted against him and making small contented noises. Steve could get used to this. He wishes he could wake up like this every morning.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “I’ve got a double shift.”

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.” Bucky mumbles.

“D’ya always wake up this early?” Steve asks. It’s the same time that his alarm usually goes off—not that he has much of a need for it. He can’t believe he slept through the whole night. He can’t remember the last time he’d been woken by an alarm. He thinks the warmth of a sleeping Bucky beside him all night may have something to do with it. Steve has never felt safer or more content.

“Yeah. I usually get up for my run now. My doctor said it’s important for me to stick to a routine.”

“Do you need to leave then?” Steve asks. He tightens his hold on Bucky without thinking.

Bucky shakes his head, nuzzling into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder. “One day won’t hurt. I don’t wanna get up. ‘S warm.”

“Mm. I don’t wanna move either.”

“Have you got work too?” Bucky asks, a hopeful note in his tone.

“Yeah, this afternoon.”

Bucky presses a small affectionate kiss to Steve’s neck and says, “Good. It’s boring without you.”

“What, because you’ve got no one to annoy?” Steve teases.

Bucky slaps Steve’s chest lightly. “Don’t be an asshole. We were having a nice moment.”

Steve rolls Bucky onto his back and settles over him. He can’t help but just stare at him for a moment, at the gentle sweep of his nose, at his chapped and bitten lips, at his eyes wide and blinking as he stares back with an expression of fondness. “Hi,” He whispers, brushing his nose against Bucky’s in a gentle Eskimo kiss.

Bucky giggles and it’s honestly the most adorable thing Steve thinks he’s ever heard, especially coming from a man like Bucky who’s all bulk and muscle. “Hi you idiot.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Bucky leans up and pecks Steve on the lips. “How was that?”

“Perfect.” Steve laughs. He lets his gaze linger on Bucky’s lips for a moment and then looks down to his bare chest. He smiles when he sees that the tattoo does go all the way down to cover his left pectoral. Steve dips his head and presses kisses over it without thinking, traces the inked metal plating with his tongue, and listens with delight to the small gasps that Bucky emits. Steve’s lips catch on his nipple, his bottom lip dragging against the pebbled nub, and Bucky shivers almost violently.

 _“Steve,”_ He moans.

“Mm?”

“Feels good.”

“Yeah? We said we weren’t going to do anything though.”

Bucky whines. “I know.”

“I can stop if you want. I don’t wanna pressure you.” Steve says between kisses.

“No.” Bucky replies, fisting Steve’s hair and yanking on it until Steve moves back over to his nipple and starts to roll it on his tongue. Steve wraps his lips around it and sucks hard, nibbles gently until Bucky’s spine is arching and he’s whispering a litany of Steve’s name over and over like a prayer. Steve can’t believe how responsive he’s being. He watches as his face contorts with pleasure, his half-hard dick throbbing at the sight of it. He can’t imagine what Bucky would look like if Steve fucked him, not with how he’s reacting just from Steve playing with his nipple. Steve wants to see him completely debauched and undone, lying beneath him and begging for that sweet release. He reaches across Bucky’s chest and pinches the other stiff peek, twists it lightly and scratches at it until it turns an angry red. It’s clear that he loves it. Bucky writhes beneath him, whimpering with pleasure, and tries to roll his hips up. Steve chuckles, shifting up onto his knees to prevent Bucky from getting that friction that he’s so desperate for.

 _“Steve,”_ He whines. _“Please.”_

“You’ve got work, Buck. We don’t have time.” Steve whispers, releasing his nipples and rubbing up and down his sides soothingly.

Bucky scrunches his eyes closed and rubs at them with his fists, a pretty pout on his lips. “Fine.”

“You should get showered. The bathroom’s through there.” Steve says. “I’ll go make breakfast.”

“You sure you don’t wanna join me? You don’t smell so great yourself princess, and your hair’s a wreck. Is it always like this in the morning?” Bucky teases, reaching up and threading his fingers through the blonde strands.

“Shut up.” Steve replies as he slides off of Bucky and gets to his feet. He looks down at the man in his bed and sighs. He looks beautiful; his tanned limbs loose and relaxed, his dark hair fanned out on the pillow, his pupils wide with desire. “Um— pancakes?”

Bucky smiles. “Sure.”

Steve puts on his glasses and pulls on a white vest and leaves the room, going in search of the pancake mixture in the kitchen cupboards. He hears the shower running as he puts the coffee machine on and gulps at the thought of Bucky naked on the other side of the wall.

He has no idea what’s going on. They’re not supposed to be doing anything, have agreed upon it several times, but somehow they keep screwing up and falling into one another. It’s just so _easy_ between them. It feels right to wake up with him in his bed, to listen to his teasing and sarcastic remarks. Steve can imagine their days together—waking up and having lazy morning sex, sliding into the shower together to wipe each other down gently, eating pancakes or French toast together in the kitchen with their feet tangled under the table, going for walks, pecking each other on the lips when they leave and when they come back, snuggling up to watch crap television, and kissing in bed until they fall asleep. Steve can imagine it all and he wants it so badly. But there’s this thing hanging over them. Steve’s not even sure what it is, just that it has something to do with Brock and Bucky’s relationship to him. Bucky said they’re not together, and Steve wants to believe him, but he doesn’t understand how Brock can have any hold on him otherwise. One minute Bucky is welcoming his touch and the next he’s pushing him away. Steve knows Bucky is fighting some internal battle, and maybe he’s an asshole for repeatedly pushing him. Perhaps, Steve needs to just be his friend and stop making this so hard on the guy. Maybe they need to talk and set some real boundaries, because they can’t keep falling into each other like this. It’s not fair on either of them.

“Uh, Steve?” Bucky murmurs.

Steve turns around to see Bucky stood in the doorway, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Heat curls in the pit of Steve’s stomach at the sight of Bucky dressed in nothing but the towel that is tied loosely around his waist. There are still water droplets running in rivulets down his torso, catching on the muscles and then trickling down into the hair that leads from his belly button and down. Steve swallows thickly and forces himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Is it okay if I borrow some of your clothes again? I sorta don’t want to go to work in the stuff from last night. It’s damp and probably smells awful.”

“Of course. I’ll just go get you something.”

“No rush, man. We can eat first.”

Steve nods and takes a sip of the coffee he’d forgotten he was holding. He asks Bucky if he wants some and is scandalized when Bucky nods and takes the mug from Steve to take a sip of his own before handing it back. He smirks at Steve, leaning forwards and pecking him on the cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

“You’re such an asshole.” Steve says, but there’s a goofy looking grin on his face to counteract his words.

“I’d offer to help you make the pancakes, but I can’t cook for shit. I’d probably burn them.”

“It’s alright. They’re Bisquick, they won’t take me five minutes. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. There’s orange juice in the fridge if you want some.”

There’s something about it that’s just wonderfully domestic. Bucky sits at the kitchen table in his towel and chats loudly as Steve quickly mixes the ingredients together and starts to put them on the pan. He’s talking amiably about his latest hot yoga class, about the new yogi who fell flat on her face and then almost collapsed because she’d been too hot in the clothes she’d gone in. “You can always tell who’s new because they come in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Trust me, you don’t wanna wear that much in hot yoga.”

“What do you wear then? Please tell me you wear mini shorts.” Steve teases as he flips a pancake and adds it to the plate that’s already piled high.

“They’re not _mini_ shorts, they’re short shorts thank you very much.”

Steve laughs loudly and turns around to place the plate in the center of the table. He sits opposite Bucky and watches with amusement as Bucky starts placing a high stack of pancakes onto his own plate. “Hungry, Buck?”

“I don’t know why, but whenever I come back from a night out I’m always starving the next day.”

“Well, you can have as many as you want.” Steve says, only taking four pancakes for himself.

“Dude, you can’t just eat four.”

“Some of us gain weight if we eat like you do.”

“I gain weight.”

“You gain _muscle.”_

“It’s the yoga. You should come with me some time. It’d be fun.”

Steve snorts. “What, and be the newbie? No thank you. I’m not a fan of making a fool of myself.”

“Come on, Stevie. You need to loosen up, make fun of yourself a bit more.”

“Maybe one day.”

“Yes!” Bucky exclaims with a fist bump, entirely too excited over nothing at all. For someone who can get so low, Bucky can be wonderfully happy sometimes.

“You’re a dork.” Steve says affectionately.

"Your dork though." Bucky says quietly.

Steve smiles. "We'll see." 

 

That afternoon, Steve’s barely got into the backroom before Bucky’s pressed against his back and enveloped him in his arms. “Hi.” He whispers in Steve’s ear, tugging gently on his earlobe with his teeth.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve laughs.

“This morning’s gone so _slow.”_

“Are you on your lunch break?”

“Yeah. I was waitin’ for you to get here. Wanna go for a smoke.” He says, his hands smoothing down Steve’s chest and abs.

Steve turns around with a sigh. He knows he's got to do this, but it's gonna be so goddamn hard and he doesn't want to ruin Bucky's good mood. “Buck, I think we’ve gotta set some boundaries.”

Bucky’s face drops, his eyes going downcast. Steve immediately feels like an asshole. “What d’ya mean? Is this not what you want?”

“No, it is, but you said you can’t do this and I can’t deal with this on again off again thing we’ve got going on. I mean, has anything changed? Are you saying we can actually do this?”

“No.” Bucky mumbles.

“I can’t do it if it can’t mean anything.”

Bucky steps forward and grabs at Steve’s arms, slides his hands down until his fingers are entwined with Steve’s. “It does mean something.” He whispers.

“So what? We kiss and then you push me away and then come running back? I can’t keep doing that. It’s too confusing.”

Bucky leans forwards until he can rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, nuzzling against him in search of comfort. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It’s okay. We can be friends. We just can’t keep doing this if it’s not gonna go anywhere.”

“Okay. But just so you know, I do want it to go somewhere. I want you more than anything.”

Steve nods. “Sucks.”

Bucky looks down and laughs wetly.

“Come ‘ere.” Steve says, pulling Bucky into a hug. “It’ll be okay. We can hang out, do fun platonic things.”

“It’s gonna kill me. All I wanna do is kiss you. All the damn time.”

“Maybe one day.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.” Bucky says, shaking his head against him.

"We'll be okay, Buck."

Bucky whimpers and then steps back, wiping his hand across his eyes. "I'm gonna go for a smoke. Clear my head."

Steve nods with a sad smile on his face. "Good idea."

"I'll see you in a couple of minutes."

"You bet."

 

It's two a.m. when Steve's phone rings, making him jump enough that he scuffs his pencil across the paper. He sighs and picks up the phone without looking at the caller I.D.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Stevie." Bucky says softly. 

Steve takes a deep breath and settles back further into the couch, letting his head drop back and his eyes fall closed. "Hey, Buck. You okay?"

"I can't sleep. And you said I could call... It is okay that I called, right?"

"Of course."

"I'm so tired I think I'm gonna die."

"It takes like eleven days or something to die of no sleep." Steve laughs.

"You don't understand Steve, my eyes are burning like hell fire."

"You want me to sing you to sleep?"

"Can you sing?"

"No." Steve snorts.

They talk nonsense for over an hour. Laugh at each other's jokes. Tell stories of their childhoods. Steve tells Bucky about his mother dying and when he starts sniffling, Bucky whispers soft words of comfort. Bucky speaks to Steve about his bipolar, about how he got it when he was seventeen and missed most of his senior year. He tells him that it took years to finally be diagnosed and get the correct medication, that his parents had thrown him out of his home because he was too difficult to deal with. They share secrets, talk about their friends, talk about everything.

"Steve?" Bucky murmurs after a while.

"Mhm?" Steve replies, his eyelids beginning to droop. 

"Your voice is making me really hard." Bucky says, his breathing starting to sound heavy.

"I thought you were tired." Steve says, his throat immediately going dry. This is the opposite of what they'd spoken about earlier. _Just friends_ , they'd agreed. This wasn't platonic at all.

"Yeah, well. My dick is now wide awake."

"I'm not gonna get you off, Buck. There's no point setting boundaries if we're just gonna ignore them."

"But,  _Steve."_ He whines.

"You're the one that said we should just be friends."

"No, that was you, and I think realistically that went out the window long ago. I woke up in your bed this morning, pal."

"That was supposed to be platonic."

"Platonic nipple play? Hm, never done that with Nat or Clint before." Bucky says playfully. "What d'ya wanna do to me, Stevie?"

"Wring your neck." Steve deadpans, because, honestly, Bucky is driving him crazy. 

"C'mon." Bucky whines. "I know you wanna touch me too. Tell me what you wanna do."

"I'm not doing this over the phone with you, Buck. We set boundaries for a reason."

"But, _Ste-e-eve_. I'm _hard._ "

"I don't care. Get yourself off." Steve snorts. He can't do this,  _can he?_

"No, I need you. _Please._ "

"Buck," Steve whispers. "I don't want our first sexual encounter to be over the phone. I'm not gonna tell you about how much I want my hands on you when I'd rather show you."

Bucky groans and, yeah, he's definitely touching himself now. This is a bad, bad idea, Steve thinks.  _"Steve."_

"D'ya want that? For me to touch you all over, kiss you and lick you and suck you?" 

"Yes. Yeah, Steve." Bucky pants. 

"Well we gotta sit and talk about it then, don't we?"

"No, stop. Go back to the other stuff."

Steve sighs, exasperated. "Buck, if we can't have sex for real, we can't have sex like this either. That's not how it works."

"Why?" Bucky whimpers. Actually fucking  _whimpers._

"Because it's not right. It's not what you want."

"I want you to do what you said."

"What about Brock?"

"Fuck Brock." Bucky spits. "I want you. I'm tired of saying no."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, Steve. Now please, can you talk to me? I'm going crazy over here."

"Okay, baby." _Fuck it._ He tried.

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line at the pet name. "What d'ya wanna do to me?"

"I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you so bad."

Bucky groans loudly, the sound teetering off into a whimper. "What else?"

"I wanna get between your thighs and lick you open until you're crying from it, begging me to just put my cock in you."

"Yeah. Yeah." Bucky whines. "Want your tongue in me, Stevie."

"I wanna finger you. Fuck you with them, rub your prostate for so long that you can't even scream anymore. Want you to go so high that the only thing you remember is my name."

Bucky lets out a short shout, his breath coming out in heavy, wet pants. "Want you. Want you here." He whines.

"I'll fuck you nice and slow, real drawn out until you're shivering from the need to release. But I won't let you. No, I'll hold you down and keep fucking you, just keep going until you're so overstimulated you can barely stand it. And then when you really can't take it, when your balls are ready to burst, then I'll let you come. And you'll come all over me, won't you baby?"

Bucky yells out Steve's name and then goes quiet, the only noise on the other end of the phone his desperate intakes of breath. 

"You feel better, Buck?" Steve asks after a moment.

"Yeah." Bucky croaks.

"Feelin' sleepy?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

"Thanks, Stevie."

"That can't happen again, Buck." Steve whispers. "I meant what I said earlier."

"I know." Bucky says quietly. "I just— I want you so bad."

"And I want you. But we've gotta sort this thing out."

"I'm gonna go to sleep now. You should too. We can talk about it in the morning if you like."

"Okay, pal. Sweet dreams."

"Mm. Night, Stevie. Love you."

The line goes dead and Steve groans loudly, looking down at his own hard on. He shoves his hand down his pants and thinks desperately of Bucky, the sounds he made, the way he said his name. He comes harder than he has in a long time, and as usual, it's Bucky's name on his lips. And, really, they'll never be able to be platonic, will they? There's too much chemistry, too much want. Steve thinks he's gonna go insane. Bucky will be the death of him.

 

Bucky's not at work the next day, nor the day after that, nor the day after that. Steve tries calling him, but he doesn't answer. Steve's worried sick by the time Thursday comes around and Natasha easily picks up on it.

"He'll be fine, Steve. He just said he's sick."

"But you said yourself, Bucky never misses a day of work. He doesn't get sick."

"He doesn't normally, but everyone does at some point, right?"

Steve drums his fingers against the counter, and almost as if through sheer force of will, Bucky walks through the door. Steve lets out a sigh of relief, but then Bucky looks up and Steve sees red.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be careful with this chapter, it includes physical abuse and non/con. If you want details as to what non/con it contains, please read the notes at the end. There is also a mention of suicidal thoughts and mental illness, so beware of that too.
> 
> I promise there will be no more non/con in the story after this.

“What the fuck happened?” Steve demands. He stares at Bucky’s bruised face—the dark mottling around his right eye and the small cut across his cheekbone—with horror. He looks at Steve for no more than a couple seconds before he drops his gaze. Steve watches as he shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his shoulders hunched and his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his peacoat. It reminds Steve of that night at the diner, the way Bucky had managed to make himself look so small; it breaks Steve’s heart to see him acting the same way now. He rushes from behind the counter and reaches out to cup his cheeks, shushing him gently when Bucky flinches. He smooth’s the hair back from where it’s hanging in Bucky’s face and frowns deeply at him. “Buck?”

Bucky shakes his head sharply, refusing to look up, but Steve can see the tears filling his eyes and the way his split bottom lip is beginning to tremble.

“Lets go in the back.” He says softly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Bucky asks in a scratchy voice.

“Nat’s got me covered. Right, Nat?”

“Of course. Keep him for as long as you need, James.”

“Come on, baby.” Steve says, taking Bucky’s hand and pulling him through the coffee shop and into the backroom.

Bucky pulls his hand back as soon as the door is closed behind them and leans against the wall, his head thunking back and his eyes closing. "I promised myself I was gonna hold it together when I got here. Guess I messed that up, huh?" Bucky says wetly as he wipes the back of his hand across his eyes.

"You don't have to hold anything together around me, Buck."

"I didn't wanna worry you and Nat."

Steve laughs, but there's nothing funny about this situation at all. "Too late, pal.

"I'm sorry." Bucky sighs deeply.

"You've got nothing to apologise for. Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"I don't want to." He says as he opens his eyes and meets Steve's gaze.

"Was it a fight?"

"No. Please don’t make me talk about it.”

“Was it Brock?”

_“Steve.”_

“Please, Bucky. That’s all I wanna know.”

Steve watches with dismay as Bucky’s face crumples, his hands coming up to cover his face as his shoulders begin to shake. Steve can’t stop himself. He steps forward and pulls Bucky into his arms, rocking him gently from side to side as he whispers softly in his ear. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

Bucky seems to just suddenly collapse against him, all restraint lost. Loud wracking sobs escape him as he tries to bury himself in Steve’s embrace, his body jolting with the force of them. “Stevie—“ He hiccups. _“Stevie.”_

“I’m right here.”

“I screwed up. I screwed up so bad.”

“What did you do?”

“Brock—“

Steve feels his hackles rise, anger hot and sizzling just beneath the surface. Of course it was fucking Brock. If Steve sees him again… “What did he do?” Steve asks, his voice hard as steel.

“It was my fault. I made him mad.”

Steve squeezes Bucky to him tightly and leans down to press a series of kisses to his temple. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“It was. I didn’t do as I was told. I— I tried to hit him, but he caught my wrist before I managed to make contact and then he— he—“ Bucky says, his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

“Okay. It’s alright. We can stop. We don’t have to talk about this anymore.”

“I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have tried to hurt him.”

“And what? It’s okay that he hit you because you tried to hit him?” Steve asks before he can stop himself, his voice cold.

“He was defending himself.” Bucky whimpers.

Steve pulls back and holds Bucky’s face gently in his hands, his thumbs stroking carefully over his cheekbones. He can’t help but think that Bucky looks beautiful; his wet eyes bright even with the pain. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes.” Bucky says, his lip wobbling as he looks around the room, looks anywhere but at Steve. “He gets mad sometimes. I shouldn’t have provoked him. It’s my fault.”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve says, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Are you safe at home?”

Bucky shrugs, his eyes downcast.

“Okay. You can stay with me tonight.”

“Really?” Bucky looks up, his teary eyes wide and hopeful.

Steve makes a sad clucking sound and leans forward to kiss him on the forehead. “Of course. You can come over whenever you want, Buck. You’re always welcome.”

Bucky beams at him, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes. He leans up and presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s cheek and whispers, “Thank you.”

"D'ya want my keys? You can go back now and I'll meet you there after work." Steve says, running a hand down Bucky's back and settling on the small divot at the bottom of his spine.

"Steve, I'm s'pose to be working too. I've got the afternoon shift."

"I'll talk to Nat and see if she can get Wanda in. She's always after the extra hours, so I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"But—"

"D'ya really think you should be working? No offence, Buck, but you look a bit of a wreck. You should go back and sleep or something."

"Well, jeez... thanks, Stevie. A real sweet talker you are."

"Only trying to look after my best guy." Steve says, leaning down for a kiss. Bucky jerks backwards, biting at his lip as he stares over Steve's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I just— I don't want you to kiss me."

Steve swallows thickly, trying to bite down the pain of rejection. "I'm sorry."

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm just— I'm dirty."

"Buck, what're you talking about?"

"Can we talk about it later? Please?"

Steve nods, but there's an uncomfortable tugging in his gut that's making him feel nauseous. He has a horrible feeling. Dirty? Does he mean— No he can't. Please _God._ He's going to fucking kill Brock.

  

When Steve gets home, he finds Bucky lying on the couch under a blanket. Steve kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his coat, hanging it up by the front door.

“Hey.” Bucky says softly, his head appearing over the back of the couch.

“Hi.”

“How was work?”

“Quiet.” Steve says as he lifts Bucky’s feet and sits down beneath them. He rubs gently at his ankle, smirking when Bucky gasps at the cold touch. “Wanda came in, but to be honest me and Nat could’ve managed just the two of us.”

Bucky hums. “So I wasn’t missed too much then?”

“I missed you.”

Bucky smiles—a cute, small grin that Steve’s never seen from him before—and reaches his arms out. “Cuddle?”

“Yeah, Buck.”

Steve lies beside him, trapping Bucky between him and the back of the couch, and wraps the blanket around both of them. Bucky snuggles into him with a sigh, his hands sliding beneath Steve’s shirt and resting on his chest. Steve looks down at where his Henley is rucked up and grits his teeth when he catches sight of Bucky’s wrist, purple and swollen. _That’s where Brock grabbed him,_ he thinks. He wants to snap Brock in half. Steve traces the bruising on Bucky’s face with his fingertips and watches as Bucky’s long eyelashes flutter. “Poor baby.” He whispers.

Bucky hums, “I’m okay now.”

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“I guess.” Bucky presses himself even closer to Steve, clearly searching for a comfort he desperately needs. Steve kisses his temple and holds him tighter.

“Just tell me what you can. We can stop if you need to.”

“Okay, but I need to start from the beginning, otherwise you won’t understand it properly.”

“Alright.”

“I met Brock in a bar back during my third year of college. I was broke because my parents had kicked me out and stopped helping me to pay my tuition. I was working two jobs as well as going to class just to pay the electricity and water bills. Then suddenly this attractive older guy comes up to me in a bar, tells me I’m pretty, and says he can look after me. He took me home that night and then it became this regular thing. We’d sleep together and then he’d take me to nice places, buy me things. He seemed like a nice guy and he— he looked after me.

"Then about six months later things started going downhill. I got real depressed—more depressed than I’d ever been—and locked myself in my apartment, stopped eating, and stopped sleeping. I was a wreck. One night things got real bad and I scared myself so much that I went to the hospital hoping they’d help. They gave me a sedative and then sent me home the next day with some anti-depressants. They didn’t know I had bipolar though, so the drugs didn’t do anything. It just seemed to get worse and worse and then I— I tried to kill myself. Brock… he found me. He took me back to the hospital and then they sent me to a rehabilitation place for a few days; that’s where I got the diagnosis.

“They released me to Brock because they said I needed to be watched for the first week or so because I was still a threat to myself. They gave him my medication and told him that he was only allowed to give me a week’s supply at a time in case I tried to overdose on them. So, every week Brock would take me to the doctor to get my meds. Except, this week I, um…” Bucky takes a deep breath and Steve kisses him on the forehead encouragingly.

“You’re doing so well, baby.” Steve tells him.

“Brock doesn’t give them to me unless I blow him, said it’s what I owe him because he looks after me. I know I can’t take care of myself and he’s just trying to help, but I hate doing it. I couldn’t sleep that night when I called you because I knew he was coming over the next day and it was making me sick just thinking about it. Then that morning, he— he started pushing me to my knees, but I didn’t want to, so I— I basically told him to fuck off and when he started yelling I just lost it and tried to punch him, and then…”

Bucky whimpers and fists Steve’s shirt in his hands, wrings it as he buries his face in Steve’s chest. “He hit me and I— I fell. He pulled me back up though and he forced my mouth open and he— he shoved his dick down my throat and just kept thrusting and thrusting, making me choke, and he wouldn’t stop.”

“Oh, baby.” Steve whispers, squeezing his eyes tight as tears fill his own eyes.

“I didn’t want to do it.” Bucky cries.

“I know you didn’t.”

“I shouldn’t have hit him. He was so mad. He won’t answer any of my calls.”

“Shush, it’s okay.”

“No, he— he wouldn’t give me my meds. I’m gonna go crazy, Stevie. I’m gonna go crazy again.” He sobs.

"It's fine. I'll take you down to the clinic tomorrow. We'll get you some."

"They won't give me anymore. I've already had this week's supply."

"We'll figure it out, Buck. I promise."

"No. You— you don't understand. If I don't take them I'll get bad again. I can't do it again, Steve. I _can't."_

"Hey, hey. Calm down, baby. Just take a deep breath for me."

Bucky does as he's told, but it's wet and wheezy. He presses his face into Steve's neck and cries silently, his shoulders shaking as Steve rubs up and down his back. 

"Let it all out. I'm right here. Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby."

Bucky cries and cries and cries, Steve's neck and collar wet from the tears. He pulls Bucky on top of him so he can hold him properly and whispers softly in his ear, shushes him, and tells him it's all going to be okay. Bucky gradually calms down until eventually he's just laying there, his head tucked beneath Steve's chin and his chest rising and falling slowly. Steve smiles when he realises that Bucky's asleep, but it's not happy, it's painfully, painfully sad.

 

Bucky wakes up an hour or so later, his cheeks pink and his eyes clear. He pushes himself up on his elbow and gazes down at Steve. "Hey." He whispers.

"Hello, sleepyhead." 

Bucky ducks his head shyly and picks at a thread on Steve's shirt. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

Bucky looks up, his cheeks even more flushed than before and leans down until his face is directly above Steve. "Can I kiss you? I understand if you don't want to after—"

Steve lifts his head and presses their lips together, effectively shutting Bucky up. Bucky sighs against him, his elbow giving way until he's laying flush against Steve's chest again. He moans softly into it, opens his mouth slightly and traces his tongue across the seam of Steve's lips. The kiss is more like the one at the baseball game than the one at the club—gentle, slow, and exploratory. Steve doesn't want to hurt him or scare him, not after what he's been through. He deserves to be treated gently, like he's something special, something precious.

Steve sits up, pulling Bucky upright, and gives Bucky free rein to touch his back and shoulders. Bucky rocks forward, his legs bracketing Steve's thighs, and rubs their crotches together.

"Buck, I'm not sure that's such a good idea." Steve says, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

"Please. I just wanna feel better. You make me feel good." 

"What about—? There were boundaries. You didn't want— _Brock."_

"Shh... That doesn't matter right now. I told you, I don't care anymore.  _Please._ Take my mind off of it, Stevie. Make me yours. Show me he doesn't own me."

"Okay." Steve breathes, rolling his hips upwards. "Okay, Buck." Because, really, Steve doesn't think he'll ever be able to say no to anything Bucky asks of him.

Bucky rocks his hips harder, his face pressing into Steve's shoulder, and gives a full body shudder. Steve meets him thrust for thrust, the seam of their jeans dragging against their cocks and causing an almost painful friction. _"Hah! Nghh,_ that's good." 

"You like that?"

"Yeah." Bucky says, his arms winding tightly around Steve's neck.

"You wanna come like this, or d'ya want my hand?"

"Oh, God. _Your hand."_

Steve makes quick work of Bucky's button and slowly drags down the zipper until Bucky's wiggling his hips and whimpering. He turns his head and presses a chaste kiss to Steve's neck. Steve reaches inside Bucky's wet boxers and groans. He wraps his hand around Bucky's cock, circling his thumb around the tip to gather the precome that's building there and watches as Bucky's head drops back between his shoulders, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squeezed shut.

 _"Oh, oh, Steve."_ Bucky gasps out.

"That's it. Let go for me, baby." Steve wraps an arm around Bucky's waist as his back arches, supporting him gently as he speeds up the motions of his hand.

"So good. So, so good." 

Steve's own dick is throbbing in his jeans, but he barely notices because he's so lost in the sounds Bucky's making, the way his brow is furrowed and his jaw slack, the perfect picture of pleasure. It's awkward, but he manages to slide his hand down lower and massage his balls for a little bit. Bucky seems to especially like that, crying out into the quiet of the living room. 

"Yes—  _Oh! Yes!"_

Steve begins to pump again, flicking his wrist and twisting as he reaches the head. He scratches oh so lightly at the slit, laughs when Bucky jolts and almost falls off of Steve's lap. Bucky lets out a high-pitched breathy sound when Steve slowly traces a finger up the thick, engorged vein, his thighs trembling on either side of Steve. 

"Come on, baby. Want you to come for me. Want it so bad, Buck."

Bucky yells out, his teeth sinking into Steve's shoulder painfully as Steve suddenly speeds up his motions, rubbing relentlessly at his frenulum. "M'gonna—  _nghh..._ gonna come, Stevie."

"Come on then, sweetheart. Let me see it."

And that's all it takes. Bucky grips at Steve's shoulders as if he's holding on for dear life, as thick ribbons of come spurt from his dick and all over both of their stomachs. It seems to go on forever, Bucky's hips rolling as little whimpers escape his mouth.

"That's it." Steve whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

Bucky collapses against him, nuzzling into Steve's neck. "D'ya— you... you want me? Want my hand?" He slurs.

Steve laughs. "No, Buck. I'm okay."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. You think you can get up so we can clean up?"

"Uh uh."

"Okay." Steve says, bodily lifting Bucky up and then laying him down on his back. He pulls his shirt over his head and wipes down the come that managed to somehow get on the skin of his stomach. "Lift your arms, Buck." He says before pulling Bucky's over his head too. Steve puts the afghan back over Bucky, telling him to go back to sleep, and walks into the bedroom to put the dirty t-shirts in the hamper. He sits down on the bed and laughs. He can't believe he just gave Bucky a hand job. He adjusts himself in his pants, willing his erection to go down. This hadn't been about him. This had been about making Bucky feel better. Just watching Bucky come had been pleasurable enough; he doesn't need to come too. 

"Stevie!" Bucky calls from the living room. "I'm hungry!"

Steve laughs again, walks back out and sits on the couch, letting Bucky rest his head in his lap. "Take out?" He asks.

"Mm. Yeah. Chinese?"

"Whatever you want, pal."

Bucky nuzzles into Steve's bare stomach, pressing a series of kisses there. "I like being here with you."

"I like it too." Steve whispers, running his fingers through Bucky's hair and scratching at his scalp.

"I could get used to it."

"You can come over as much as you want."

"You're serious? I won't annoy you?"

"Of course not. I like spending time with you."

Bucky pushes himself up and wraps his arms around Steve's neck, pressing their lips together and sliding his tongue into Steve's mouth. Steve sighs and yeah, he could get used to this too. He's surprised that Bucky's so comfortable with the physical affection after what has happened, but then he supposes, maybe it's affection that he needs. Steve is all too happy to be the one to give it to him, to be the one to look after him.

"Are you okay now?" Steve asks him, their lips brushing.

"Mhm."

"I'm not gonna let this happen again, Buck. I'm not gonna let him touch you."

"I know." He sighs, resting his head on Steve's chest. "You'll keep me safe."

"Always, Buck."

"My best guy."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, Buck. You're my best guy too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock forces Bucky to give him a blow job, holding his mouth open.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God help me, this chapter killed me! 
> 
> Please leave comments if you liked this one because I honestly have no idea if it's any good or if it even makes any sense.

When Steve wakes up, he’s startled again by the bruising on Bucky’s face. He’s clearly just woken up too, his eyes blinking sluggishly and his lips smacking together in a way that should be annoying, but Steve just finds endearing. He knows rationally that the bruises can’t have gotten worse overnight, but seeing them again after a long night of sleep makes it seem that way. The edges have begun to turn yellow, but they’re still stark against his unhealthily pale complexion.

It’s protective instinct that has him leaning forward to press a gentle kiss over the purple-blossomed skin, affection that has him rubbing large circles over his chest until Bucky sighs with content. He looks exhausted, the shadows beneath his eyes dark enough that they’re beginning to look like bruises too. Steve wraps him up in his arms and smiles when Bucky snuggles against him and breathes in deeply.

“Morning, Buck.” Steve murmurs, his lips brushing against Bucky’s temple.

“G’morning.” Bucky yawns.

“You feeling better today?”

“Mhm. Still hurts if I press on it, but not so much.” Bucky says, touching the bruising with his fingertips and wincing as if to prove it.

“Your alarm didn’t go off for your run.”

“No, I wanted to stay in bed with you.” He murmurs into Steve’s chest.

Steve hums, a wide smile stretching across his face. _He wanted to stay in bed with you._ “What time’s your appointment?”

Bucky sighs, his hands wandering beneath the hem of Steve’s t-shirt until he can feel skin on skin. “Ten.”

“So we’ve got…” Steve leans across Bucky to look at the clock. “Two hours. I think we can afford to waste at least an hour in bed.”

“Mm. Good. ‘S nice.” Bucky slurs.

“I’ll make us coffee after and then we can take it in turns for the shower.”

“Can’t I just join you?”

Steve pulls his head back sharply, his eyes wide as he looks down at the crown of Bucky’s head. He’s just about to ask if Bucky’s serious because, well… but when Bucky looks up he’s giving him a shit eating grin and wiggling his eyebrows, the fucker. “Gotcha.”

“You’re a real comedian you are.” Steve snorts.

“Would be nice though.”

Steve runs his fingertips down Bucky’s cheek softly and smiles at him, linking their ankles together beneath the sheets. “Yeah. It would.”

The air seems to suddenly feel weighted, the two of them in some sort of limbo. Steve, with every fiber of his being, wants to dart forward and crush his lips against Bucky’s, wants to pull his boxers off and fuck him into the mattress. He wants to carry him to the shower, soap him up, wash him tenderly, and then fall down to his knees and make him scream. Bucky looks at him now, his eyes dark, as if he’s thinking exactly the same thing.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Steve whispers, leaning forward and giving him a chaste kiss, his tongue flicking out to swipe along Bucky's bottom lip briefly.

“Mm. Keep kissing me like that and _you’re_ gonna kill _me_.”

Steve bites at the dimple in Bucky’s chin with a grin and slides his hands down the back of his boxers, squeezing lightly.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish, you jerk.”

“You’re no fun.” Steve says, slapping his ass lightly and then pulling his hands back out again.

Bucky sighs heavily, half burying his face into the pillow. “I don’t wanna go to my appointment.”

“I know, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

 

Dr. Dawes’ room in the clinic is calm and tranquil and everything you’d expect from a psychiatrist’s office. Her desk is at the far end of the room, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window to the garden that’s been planted in the center of the L-shaped building. There’s a pale blue couch against the right-hand wall and a bookshelf on the left. In the corner is a tall plant with large green leaves, and on the coffee table sits a box of cleanex tissues. Bucky sits down heavily on the couch with the sigh of a man who’s incredibly fed up. He doesn’t look happy to be here at all. Steve sits down beside him and nudges their knees together.

Dr. Dawes turns around in her chair and tucks her curly hair behind her ears. “So, what can I help you with? You told the receptionist it was an emergency.”

“Brock collected my medication this week and hasn’t given it to me. I was wondering if I could get another week’s supply.”

Dr. Dawes frowns at him. “Why hasn’t he given them to you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Just hasn’t.”

“We were actually kind of hoping that you’d stop giving them to him.” Steve says. “Maybe put something in place so only James can collect them.”

“Well, I should be able to do that. But you know I can’t give you this week’s medication again. You don’t have long before your next supply, so you’ll be absolutely fine.”

“But I don’t wanna go into withdrawal or start getting out of control again.”

“James, you’ve only missed three days. It won’t have any effect whatsoever, I promise.” Dr. Dawes tells him. Steve takes his hand and squeezes, smiling at him reassuringly.

Bucky shakes his head. “What if—“

“Tell me, James. How are you feeling on a scale of one to ten? One being suicidal and ten being very happy.”

“Uh… six or seven, I guess.”

“And how were you feeling last week?”

“About the same.” Bucky says with a huff.

“There we go then. You’ll be fine. If you want I can supply you with a couple days worth of your anxiety medication to tide you over, just to ease your nerves. You can’t overdose on them, so I’m within my rights to give them to you.”

“That’d be great.” Bucky says, a small smile on his face as he looks at Steve.

“I’ve made a note that Mr. Rumlow is no longer allowed to collect your prescription for you, so you shouldn’t have any more problems there.”

Bucky sighs, knocking his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve rubs large circles over Bucky’s back and kisses his temple. “See, everything is going to be okay.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise. “Thanks, doc.”

“You’re welcome, James. Your medication will be at the pharmacy. If things do go downhill, which they shouldn’t, remember you can call the hotline at any time or go to the hospital.”

Bucky nods and stands up, grasping Steve’s hand tightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave the office and walk silently to the pharmacy. When they sit down to wait, Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah. Just hate it here.”

“We’ll be out in a couple of minutes, pal. Just hold on a little longer.”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Steve hooks a finger beneath Bucky’s chin and tilts his head up so he can press a gentle kiss to his lips. “You're welcome."

   

It’s busy on the subway and Steve and Bucky are pressed tightly together, their temples touching so they can hear each other over the sound of the train speeding along the tracks. Steve’s got one arm wrapped around Bucky’s waist and one hand on the handrail, whilst Bucky clings to the front of Steve’s coat. Steve takes a deep breath, reveling in the warm scent of him. The woman beside them gives them a strange look and tuts. Steve pointedly ignores her.

“Y’know, Brock’ll come looking. He’ll be furious. Might even try to kill me this time.” Bucky laughs. It’s a horrible sound, thin and tight and filled with poorly suppressed fear.

“Well he won’t find you because you’ll be at mine.” Steve says, smoothing his hand up and down Bucky’s side until he lets go of some of the tension in his body.

“Steve, you’ve already put me up for one night. I can’t ask you to let me stay another.”

“I want you to. I’d be happier knowing you’re safe. You can stay for as long as you like.”

“Really?”

“Buck, I’m not leaving you to face him, or to sit at home just waiting for him to show up. No way. I told you—I’m never letting him touch you again. We’ll go to yours now and you can pack a bag.”

Bucky looks at him warily and slides a hand up to the nape of his neck. “Are you sure? I can be really annoying to live with. Just ask Clint.”

“You lived with Clint?”

“Yeah, when I couldn’t pay the rent for my apartment anymore he let me crash with him for a while.”

“Well, I don’t care. I’ll just make you sleep on the couch if you’re that bad.” Steve teases.

“Asshole.” Bucky presses a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You can’t wait to get me back in your bed, don’t even lie.”

“Yeah, alright wiseass.”

“I can make it worth your while.” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ear.

“Mm.” Steve murmurs as Bucky bites down lightly on his earlobe. “Is that a promise?”

“For you… always.”

“I think we’re gonna give that old lady a heart attack if you keep necking on me, Buck.” Steve whispers.

“Let her look.” Bucky says, his tongue flicking out.

“We’ve gotta get off soon anyway, right?”

“Actually we’re on the wrong train. I don’t live in Brooklyn Heights.”

Steve groans, “Damnit.”

“What? It was you that decided we were going to mine instead of yours. This is entirely your fault.”

“Lets just get off at Clark Street and walk. You don’t live that far from the coffee shop, right?”

“No. But, _Stevie_.” Bucky whines. “It’s cold.”

“Too bad.”

“Are you gonna keep me warm?” Bucky asks, his voice sultry and low.

“You’re the worst.”

“Pal, I’m the best and you know it.”

 

Bucky lives in a studio apartment in Red Hook with a view of… a brick wall. Despite that flaw and the darkness it brings with it, it’s a pretty nice place. The kitchen is to the left of the front door and is made entirely of chrome. There are black appliances covering the counters with an expensive looking coffee maker pushed into the corner. On the fridge there's a collection of photographs held by small circular magnets. Steve is dying to have a look, but they're not sticking around today. He'll look another time.

To the right is the living room; a small space that looks like it’s filled with too much furniture, most of the space dwarfed by the large, black shiny piano that’s pressed against the wall. There’s a small television in the corner and two black leather couches angled towards it. The coffee table is covered in mugs, books, and music sheets. On the floor beside the couch is an ashtray that needs emptying—Steve can just picture Bucky lying down, his arm hanging off the couch as he taps the ash into the glass tray.

There’s a large white bookcase that partitions the living space from what Steve presumes is Bucky’s bedroom. From where he’s standing in the entryway, he can just about see the edge of the bed’s red comforter.

All of it is just so… _Bucky_. Steve falls in love with it instantly. And... go figure.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a second.” Bucky says. He seems awkward and uncomfortable and Steve can't help but wonder how many people Bucky actually invites into his home.

Steve squeezes his arm and smiles reassuringly. "Okay."

Steve sits on one of the couches and smiles when he sees a book folded open on one of the fluffy white pillows. He picks it up curiously: _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy._ It's old and worn and Steve wonders how many times Bucky's read it, whether it's a favourite, a book he turns to when he needs comfort. 

There's a lot about Bucky that Steve feels like he's learning just from being in his apartment. Like how he plays the piano, how he writes his own music, how he likes living in a state of organised mess. It's homey and well lived in—the complete opposite of Steve's own place. It sings of comfort. Nothing gives away the horrors that Bucky has had to endure in it. There are no signs of suffering. Steve swallows thickly as he looks around, wondering where it usually happens. Whether it goes on in Bucky's bedroom or if he's just shoved down on his knees by the doorway. 

“Back to yours?” Bucky asks, suddenly appearing from behind the bookshelf with his bag slung over his shoulder.

He’s changed into a grey parka instead of his peacoat, his hair now tied into a bun. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans that Steve’s never seen before; they have a hole in the knee and fit much more loosely than the pants he usually wears. He looks good in a disheveled sort of way. Steve's not used to seeing him like this—like he doesn't give a shit about his appearance—but Steve likes it. 

Bucky gives a shy smile when he notices Steve checking him out and looks down at his workers boots.

“Yeah.” Steve says as he stands up. “Lets get outta here.”

  

Steve can’t stop grinning. He’s not even watching the television; he’s just watching the way Bucky curls up as he laughs, his hand gripping Steve’s thigh and his eyes squeezing shut. Bucky’s got his head resting in Steve’s lap, his legs bent up to his chest beneath the blanket. Steve can’t help but run his fingers through his hair and lean down occasionally to plant a kiss to his temple. It’s too tempting. If Steve could, he’d spend every day showering Bucky with affection. Anything to take away the hurt he’s endured.

Bucky’s just about fallen into hysterics when his phone starts ringing. He struggles for a moment, twisting awkwardly to get it out of his pocket. Steve can see instantly by the look in his eyes that something’s wrong.

“It’s Brock.” Bucky says thinly.

“Are you gonna answer it?”

“I think so. I should.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“No. I— I need to do this.”

Steve nods. He’s not going to refute Bucky’s decision, even if Steve doesn’t agree with it. “I’ll go into the kitchen and make some coffee, give you a bit of privacy.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky sighs, sitting up and dropping his head into one of his hands. Steve ruffles his hair affectionately as he walks away, a tight knot of worry in his belly.

He plans to make coffee. He really does. But then he hears the quiet murmur of Bucky’s voice and he can’t help but press his ear against the kitchen door to listen. Bucky sounds different when he talks. Quieter, timid, _submissive._ It’s nothing like the cheeky, sarcastic drawl that Steve’s used to. It terrifies him to think what kind of hold Brock has over him. Even now, after all that he’s done to Bucky, Bucky still listens like a good little boy and answers exactly as he’s supposed to.

_“Yes, Brock.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I really like him though. He’s—”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know.”_

Steve suddenly hears Bucky whimpering, and then he’s straight into the living room and on his knees in front of Bucky. He stares at Bucky’s tear streaked face, something tugging sharply in his chest, and slowly eases the phone from his grip so he can hang up. Bucky’s face immediately shifts, his bloodshot eyes flashing with anger.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” He shouts, standing up and pushing Steve back. Steve falls on his ass and glares up at Bucky.

“You were shaking. He was frightening you.” He argues.

“I don’t care! Do you have any idea how angry you will’ve just made him?” Bucky exclaims, storming off across the room, opening the window and climbing out onto the fire escape.

Steve watches as Bucky sits on the stairs and pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up quickly. Steve sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He grabs Bucky’s coat and makes his way outside. Bucky looks away with tear-filled eyes when Steve drapes it over him, his shoulders hunched from the cold. His hands are trembling, barely holding onto the cigarette that’s hanging precariously between his fingertips.

“I was just trying to help.” Steve says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him.

“I know.” Bucky whispers with a sigh. He rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head fall down towards his chest. “I can’t just ignore him though. He’s right; I _need_ him. He’s looked after me for years and I can’t just let that go. And besides, I’m gonna have to face him at some point. I can hide here for as long as I want but he’s not gonna go away.”

Steve sits down beside him and puts an arm around his shoulders. It terrifies him that one conversation with the guy has him hooked so easily. The control he has over him… it really worries Steve. “You don’t need him, Buck. He hurt you. He'll hurt you again.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t look after myself. There’s a reason why he’s still around after all these years. I know what he does to me isn’t right, that he— he— takes _advantage_. But he knows what I need. He really does. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him.”

Steve knows that these aren’t Bucky’s words. He knows that Brock has planted them in his head. Steve doesn’t know how to make Bucky understand that. He doesn’t know how to tell Bucky that he’s being gaslighted into believing he can’t take care of himself, that without him he’s nothing. He’s been exposed to these lies for years, controlled and abused. Bucky will deny it; Steve knows he will.

“I don’t believe that. I think you can take care of yourself just fine. He just hasn’t given you the opportunity to try.”

“I told him about you.” Bucky whispers.

“And what did he say?”

“He said you’ll hurt me. He said I’ll come running back eventually.”

“And you believe that?”

“It’s happened before.” He whimpers.

“That doesn’t mean it has to happen again.”

“I don’t know how to live without him.”

“Then let me help you. Let me keep you safe.”

Bucky drops his cigarette and turns to face him. "How?"

"You— You can stay here."

Bucky pulls a face. "What, forever?"

"I don't—"

"Look, I'm here now while he cools off a little. But eventually I've got to go home, and eventually he'll show up. What are you gonna do about it? Kill him? He's not going to disappear. I owe him too much and he's always gonna come to collect. You trying to help me means a whole lot, but you can't fix this."

"I want to though."

"Just— Just be here. Okay? Give me somewhere I can escape to."

Steve knows what he means. He doesn't just mean the apartment. He means a pair of arms to embrace him when he's hurt, to catch him when he feels like he's going to fall. He means a pair of hands that will fix and tend to his wounds, that'll touch him softly, gently, reverently, until he feels like he's been stitched back together. 

"I can do that."

"And don't— don't leave me. _Please._ Don't let him be right about you, because I want to be with you. I want it so bad."

“I won't. You’ve got me, Buck. I’m all yours. I won't hurt you.”

Bucky smiles sadly and leans forward to press his mouth to Steve’s. His lips are chapped and dry, catching against Steve’s, but they feel so good that Steve can’t help but nibble at that bottom lip that lingers just a second longer than the top. He flicks his tongue out and swipes across Bucky’s lips, wetting them to make the slide smoother. Bucky moans as Steve’s tongue slips easily into his mouth, moans even louder when Steve licks just behind his teeth and then gently massages their tongues together. He lets out a long breath through his nose and tugs Bucky closer, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other palming at the back of his head. Meanwhile, Bucky’s arms slip around Steve’s waist and he grips the back of his sweater with shaking, eager hands. Their noses catch as they tilt their heads to the side and Steve smiles at the small laugh Bucky gives, bites at his bottom lip playfully as the mood lightens. It feels so good to just sit there and kiss him. To know that, for now, Bucky is safe with him. Steve could sit there forever. He’s just about to pull Bucky into his lap when the loud rumbling of Bucky’s tummy ruins the moment. Bucky leans back with a laugh, one hand moving to rest over his stomach.

“Oops.” Bucky says breathlessly.

Steve snorts. “You hungry by any chance?”

Bucky smiles sheepishly. “A little.”

“Come on then. Lets go get some food.” Steve says as he stands up, offering his hand to tug Bucky to his feet as well.

“Pizza?”

“Mhm.”

“Can— Can we do that again after? I wanna keep kissing you.”

“Of course. You should know by now how much I like kissing you.”

“I know what I said about Brock is probably confusing. But I really do want you.”

“It’s okay, Buck. We can work it out.”

“So, you don’t wanna stop this? Whatever this is.”

“No. I don’t.”

Bucky sighs out in relief. “Good.”

“Come on. It’s cold out here and I don’t have a coat.”

Bucky nods. “Okay.”

 

It’s quiet in Steve’s bedroom, the lighting soft and low. Bucky is asleep on his front, his face turned away from Steve, and his body star fished diagonally across the bed. Steve is sat with his knees up to his chest, a book cradled in his hands, and is humming a lullaby beneath his breath.

Steve had been sat out on the couch when a messy haired Bucky had trailed out with the bed sheet wrapped around him. “I can’t sleep,” He’d said forlornly. Steve had taken him back into the bedroom and sat beside him, rubbing at his back and humming softly to him. It had taken barely five minutes before Bucky was snoring softly into the pillow.

All of a sudden Bucky starts making quiet whining noises. Steve puts his book on the bedside table with a frown, plucking his glasses from his face so he can settle down beside Bucky. He’s surprised to say the least when Bucky starts rolling his hips down into the mattress, his fingers tangling in the sheets. And he’s… Yeah.

Steve rubs at his shoulder, trying to rouse him gently, but withdraws when Bucky moans his name. He can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips because, yes, it’s Steve that Bucky’s dreaming about. Bucky’s hip movements begin to steadily increase, his breathing growing heavier and heavier. Steve blushes furiously when his name is moaned for the second time.

“Buck?” He whispers, rubbing at his shoulder again. “Come on, pal. Wake up.”

Bucky stirs, his head lolling as he turns to blink sleepily at Steve. “Wha—?”

“You were, um—“ Steve clears his throat. “You were having a dream.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No. It’s just— You were having a _good dream._ If you know what I mean.”

Bucky shifts slightly and then blushes bright red. “God, _Steve._ I’m so sorry—“

Steve shakes his head. “Come ‘ere.” He says, leaning forward so he can press their mouths together. Bucky whines into it immediately, his arms wrapping around Steve’s neck when Steve pushes him onto his back and slides on top of him. “Is this okay?”

“Very, very okay.” Bucky moans, his hips hitching up. He’s still hard and Steve groans as he rolls his hips, watching with heavy-lidded eyes at the way Bucky’s jaw falls slack. He tips his head back and Steve takes the invitation, dives forward and latches his lips around his Adam’s apple and sucks.

“Need to— Need—“ Bucky pants, reaching down and trying to push his boxers off.

“What about—”

Bucky laughs breathlessly. “It doesn't matter. ‘S just you and me now. Brock never has to know.”

“You’re sure?” Steve asks. “This is what you want?”

“Yes.” Bucky leans up and brushes his nose against Steve’s.

“You and me?”

“Mhm.” Bucky murmurs, his boxers down to his knees now. Steve helps tug them all the way off, pulling his own down as well, and then lowers himself onto Bucky’s chest again. He mouths across Bucky’s jaw and down his throat, basking in the sounds of bliss he’s pulling from him. _“Stevie.”_

“I’m gonna take care of you.” He whispers. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you forget anyone’s ever hurt you.”

Bucky gasps as Steve thrusts down, the silky hot skin of their cocks rubbing together. Bucky’s back bows slightly, his eyelashes fluttering as he exhales a long shuddering sigh. Steve pants as he rocks against him, licks his way down Bucky’s throat and nibbles at his collarbone. He takes hold of Bucky's hands, which are flailing around in search of some sort of purchase, and pins them above their heads. Bucky whines, his head shaking from side to side. Steve kisses his forehead and drags his lips down to his temple, kisses there too before his mouth is hovering over Bucky's ear. "You're so good, Buck. So good for me."

Bucky whines loudly, his legs sliding from beneath Steve and wrapping around his waist. He lets Steve mouth at him, lets him kiss and lick at his tattooed arm. He doesn't think too much about the kink that his lover seems to have, doesn't care because it feels so fucking good.  _"Feels good. Always make me feel so good."_

Steve lets go of Bucky's hands and starts playing with his nipples instead, revels in the short scream that he provokes. Bucky's hands slide down Steve's sweat-slicked back until they reach the small rump of his backside, squeezing and pulling him harder against him. Steve moans in response and dips his head to nip roughly at his left nipple in retaliation. Bucky pants hard above him, his mouth wide open as he tries desperately to catch his breath.

"You're gonna kill me." Bucky gasps.

Steve tries to laugh, but it just comes out as a groan as Bucky tugs at his hair with one hand. "Ah!  _Oh..._   _baby."_

The pressure in Steve's belly is growing and growing. He looks down and meets Bucky's beautiful, heated gaze and swallows thickly. He's so  _close._ He snaps his hips faster now, smiles when Bucky's eyes fly wide open and a strangled noise escapes him. The hand in Steve's hair twists painfully and then suddenly Bucky's spine is arching, thick streams of come spurting from his dick as universes explode behind his eyelids. Steve's mouth drops open and, with a silent scream, he follows him over the edge, the slide even better now that their come is there to ease the way.

His movements gradually slow down until he stills and all but collapses against Bucky's chest, his face burrowing into the crook of his neck. He screws his face up at the way their stomachs stick together, but he's too content and exhausted to move. Bucky presses a gentle kiss to his sweaty temple and encircles him in his arms. "Love you." He whispers.

Steve knows there's a difference between _love you_ and  _I love you,_ but those two words make his heart stutter all the same. He knows that thin line is beginning to blur for him now, that he's falling for this man faster than he can keep up with.

He feels like crying just thinking about it, thinking about how damaged and hurt Bucky is, thinking about how an  _I love you_ may never be possible as long as Brock is in the picture. No matter what Bucky feels for Steve, part of him still belongs to this abusive, barbaric bastard. Steve hates him, wants to shield Bucky from his harsh, manipulative words and cruel hands, wants to undo every evil thing he's done to hurt Bucky. 

He can't say any of this though, not without upsetting him. So he leans up and kisses him lightly, tightens his arms around him, and says, "Love you too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just fluff and smut in this chapter because these two boys deserve it
> 
> Small mention of non/con, so beware of that

The only noise that can be heard in the kitchen is the soft smacking of lips and the coffee dripping into the pot. It’s snowing outside, the wind strong, but Steve and Bucky haven’t noticed, too enveloped in the little slice of heaven they’ve made for themselves. Neither of them went running again, choosing instead to spend a lazy morning in bed exchanging soft kisses, touching and exploring each other’s bodies with gentle, loving hands. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt more content, doesn’t think he’s ever smiled or laughed so much.

It’s warm in the apartment and it only serves to make the atmosphere even softer, even more peaceful and comforting. The thin sunlight coming through the window makes Bucky’s olive skin glow and Steve just— he _can’t._ He can’t deal with how perfect this man is, can’t believe that it’s his arms that Bucky chose to fall into. He can’t believe his luck. Things like this don’t happen to him. Ever. Yet here he is, a warm, solid Bucky caressing his sides and breathing heavily into his mouth. He thinks maybe this is what falling in love feels like.

Bucky is sat on the kitchen counter now, his legs wrapped loosely around Steve’s waist as he presses kiss after kiss to his lips. They’re closed mouthed and tender, their lips dragging, brushing lightly. It sends shivers up Steve’s spine, the intimacy raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Bucky sighs into them and it’s music to Steve’s ears. All he wants to do is give him pleasure, make him feel so good that he’ll forget about everything else. His breath hitches when Steve drags his nails lightly down his back and his head lolls when Steve moves his lips to that spot just below his ear. It feels like they’re in a cocoon, safe from the world and all the terrible things it has been throwing at them lately. Here _everything is wonderful and nothing hurts_. Steve wants to stay in the bubble forever.

 _“Stevie,”_ Bucky sighs.

“Mm.”

“We’re— this means something, right?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I— Are we together? You and me?”

Steve pulls back slightly and presses their foreheads together, stares deeply into Bucky’s vulnerable grey eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

“Is that what _you_ want?”

“You know it is, Buck.”

A broad, glorious smile flashes across Bucky’s face, his arms winding around Steve’s neck as he kisses him again. “Me too.”

“Good.” Steve murmurs against his lips. “We’ll work everything else out. I promise.”

Bucky sighs blissfully as their mouths open under one other again, his tongue wet and warm as it slides gracefully into Steve’s mouth. It’s smooth as it glides across Steve’s, tickles when it traces the roof of his mouth. Steve loves the way he kisses, could kiss him every day for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you at work later.” Bucky whispers, his eyes half-lidded when he pulls back again to look at Steve.

Steve laughs softly. Ever so softly. Everything is so, so soft today. “Better get used to it. Nat won’t be happy if you’re grabbing at me in front of the customers.”

“It’s not fair.” Bucky groans.

Steve nips lightly at the dimple in Bucky’s chin and holds him closer to his chest. He can’t get close enough, will never be able to get close enough. “You can touch me as much as you like when we get home.”

 _“Home.”_ Bucky sighs.

“I didn’t mean—“

“Shh… I like it.”

"If it helps," Steve whispers in Bucky's ear. "All I can think about is taking your clothes off and kissing every part of you, every inch."

Bucky shudders and grips Steve tighter. _"Please."_

Steve presses a gentle open mouthed kiss to Bucky's neck and says, "Maybe later."

Bucky's breathing is heavy and he doesn't seem to be able to help himself when he squeezes his thighs either side of Steve's waist. It pulls their pelvises together and Bucky releases a blissful sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. "Take me back to bed, Stevie."

"We'll be late for work..."

"I don't care. Just  _please."_

Steve is helpless to say no. 

 

They're out of breath and a little sweaty when they get to work that afternoon. They've made it on time, but only by sprinting the entire way there. Of course, it wasn't easy when Bucky turned it into a game of who can trip whom up first. Steve had fallen with a smack onto the hood of someone's car, much to Bucky's amusement. 

"What the hell have you two been doing? You look a mess." Nat says.

Steve looks down at himself and then to Bucky and... yeah, Bucky definitely looks like he's had a roll in the hay. He's got a nice dark hickey that is only partially covered by the collar of his shirt and his hair is in knots from where Steve has twisted and grabbed at it. They’d barely had time to get dressed, let alone shower or straighten up.

"You might wanna put your hair up, Buck." Steve says lowly, unable to control the smirk that's spreading across his face.

Bucky snorts. "Pal, yours is a lost fucking cause. Come 'ere. Let me make it better."

Steve starts backing up, yelping when his back hits the counter. He knows that Bucky's up to no good, can tell by the mischievous glint in his eye. Steve is just about to put his hands up in surrender when Bucky darts forwards, trapping him in a headlock and giving him a nuggie.

"Ow, ow! Buck, _stop_." Steve pleads.

"James, what the hell are you doing?" Natasha demands. The two of them straighten immediately, their lips folding in to contain their laughter. Natasha is standing with her hands on her hips, clearly not amused. "I know you've been having a rough time of it lately and I'm glad to see you're doing better, but I swear to God I'll fire you if you do that again in my coffee shop when there are customers sat trying to enjoy their coffee."

"You're in trouble." Steve sing-songs beneath his breath.

"You're such a child." Bucky replies, punching Steve in the arm before he reaches down and intertwines their fingers together. Natasha looks at them in shock and Steve beams. He can't help it. Today is such a fucking good day. His hand feels perfect in his, the calluses rough but his hold so very gentle.

Natasha shakes her head as if she's trying to wrap her mind around what she's seeing and then points to the backroom. "Just go and get your aprons on. I'm sure Wanda and Bruce are dying to go home."

"Yes, ma'am." Steve says at the same time as Bucky says, “So am I.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re only here for five hours, James. I’m sure you can manage it.”

“But I’ve got other things to do.” He whines. He looks at Steve and winks lewdly.

“Jesus.” Steve says with a groan. “I regret everything.”

Bucky laughs loudly. “You love me and you know it.”

Steve looks down with a blush and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Shit. I didn’t mean—“

“Okay, you're killing me. You’ve got work to do. Go and get ready. Wanda, Bruce, you two can go home. Wish me luck, I’ve got to deal with these two buffoons all afternoon.”

Bucky steps forward and kisses Natasha on the cheek. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Natasha clips him around the ear and shoves him towards the backroom. He grabs Steve’s arm as he goes and smiles at him shyly, clearly feeling a little awkward about what he said.

“I was thinking about cooking tonight.” Steve says as he shrugs his coat off and grabs his red apron.

“You cook?”

“A little.”

“Okay. That sounds nice. What are we having?”

“I was thinking carbonara. Do you like Italian?”

“Love it.” Bucky says, leaning over to peck Steve gently, lingering for as long as he can before Steve pushes him away.

“You are staying the night again, aren’t you?”

“If that’s alright with you, then yeah.”

“Of course it is. I like the company. Especially when it’s yours.”

“Stop it Stevie, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Steve shoves Bucky on his way out the door and watches as Bucky falls back on his ass. He laughs loudly and calls over his shoulder, “Serves you right for earlier you asshole!”

 

He swears Bucky is trying to torture him. Throughout the whole shift, Bucky is brushing against him, whispering obscene things in his ear, and bending over to showcase his perfect ass until Steve feels like he’s choking.

“I swear to God, Buck,” Steve snaps when he leans over for the hundredth time. “There’s nothing even on the damn floor.”

“Maybe I dropped something.” Bucky says, a mock innocent look on his face.

“I hate you.” Steve groans.

“You wish you hated me. Maybe it’d stop you popping a boner while you’re on the job.”

Steve can’t help but look down in a panic. He’s absolutely fine. It’s a miracle really with the way Bucky’s behaving. He’s pushing all of Steve’s buttons and he knows it. He’s so goddamn smug and Steve wants to drop to his knees and wipe that look straight off his face. He glares hard at Bucky as he falls into hysterics, obviously finding Steve’s struggle absolutely hilarious. “Seriously, Buck. Natasha’s gonna kill us.”

“Nah, she’d never hurt me. You on the other hand…”

“Well _I’ll_ kill you then. I’ll wait until you’re asleep and smother you with a pillow.”

“And to think I had something special planned for you…”

“Seriously you two,” Natasha groans. “The tables need cleaning. Someone spilt coffee on the floor. Just do your damn jobs rather than give each other heart eyes all afternoon. I don’t pay you to act all moony.”

“Sorry, Nat.” Steve says, rounding the counter with a washcloth. “I’m on it.”

“And James. Try looking at the customer when you’re serving them. Steve’s not going anywhere. You don’t have to spend every second staring at him.”

Steve snorts at the blush that spreads across Bucky’s cheeks. “Yeah, well… I— Just shut up, will you?”

Natasha grins widely. “Aw that’s so cute. He’s getting all embarrassed.”

“Hey! I don’t need you conspiring against me.” Bucky groans, pointing at Natasha with a look of disdain on his face. “Nat, don’t corrupt him.”

“Too late.” Natasha says. "I need a partner in crime to make your life miserable."

Steve laughs at the grim look on Bucky's face. "Don't worry, baby. I'll make it up to you later."

Bucky blushes even harder and covers his face with his hands. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

Steve and Natasha high-five. If Bucky can be an asshole... well, two can play at that game.

 

Steve doesn't mean for it to happen. Would never usually do such a thing. But it's Bucky and he'd follow him anywhere.

"Bathroom." Bucky says as he passes Steve, pulling his apron over his head as he goes into the backroom. It's the end of their shift and Steve is diligently cleaning the place up; Bucky had never been one for chores and always left him and Natasha to do this part. Neither of them minded. It was much more peaceful without a complaining Bucky. Steve frowns now at Bucky's request, wondering what the hell Bucky wants and why they can't just go home. 

He doesn't even have time to lock the bathroom door before Bucky is on him. Their teeth clack as he smashes their lips together, and he’s panting before they’ve even started. His pupils are fucking massive and Steve feels like he’s falling into a black hole as he looks into them. And _damn_ , Bucky’s real turned on. Steve doesn’t even have to look down to know that Bucky’s hard. “Now. Now. Get your pants off.”

“Buck, we’re at work.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky says, dropping to his knees and scrabbling to undo Steve’s belt. "Our shift's over.

“Nat’ll kill us.”

“Still don’t care.”

Before Steve knows what’s happening, Bucky has got his dick out and is licking a long stripe up it. It feels so fucking good, the rough yet silky texture of Bucky’s tongue against his cock sending sparks of pleasure throughout his body. 

“Buck—“

Bucky looks up with a smirk and… Steve is done. He can’t turn him down. Not when he’s so desperate for the wet, hot heat of the inside of Bucky’s mouth. Not when Bucky’s on his knees for him for the first time.

“You gonna keep fighting me on this?” He asks, taking hold of the base of Steve’s cock and angling it towards his awaiting mouth.

Steve shakes his head, pulling the hair tie from Bucky’s hair so he can fist his hand in the long strands.

The first few moments are almost painful; Bucky’s teasing little kitten licks driving him insane in the best way possible. He tugs on Bucky’s hair, but it doesn’t speed him up, just makes him moan loudly. It’s probably _too_ loudly. Steve hopes to God that they won’t be able to hear it out the front. “Shh… _Buck_.”

“Don’t pull my hair then.”

Steve can’t help himself. He stares down at Bucky with a smirk on his face and tugs again. This time Bucky’s head falls back and his mouth drops open, his eyes fluttering closed as he lets out another deafening moan. “I’ll have to keep note of that one for later.” Steve chortles.

Bucky glares at him and then looks at his dick with an expression of determination fixed on his face. Steve slams his head back against the wall painfully, a short whine escaping his mouth when Bucky slowly takes his cock into his mouth. Bucky slides down further and further, testing his gag reflex and seeing how deeply he can take him. To Steve's delight, Bucky can take almost all of him. He palms at Bucky's head encouragingly and looks down as he starts bobbing his head, Bucky breathing deeply through his nose, and his eyes falling closed. His lips are bright red, stretched obscenely around Steve's dick and he has to look away because if not he's going to come embarrassingly soon. The warm wet heat feels like it's setting Steve on fire, pleasure striking through him and making his knees weak and wobbly. He takes Steve deeper and deeper as he gets into a rhythm and his throat relaxes and Steve is letting out little  _uh, uh, uh's,_ unable to control the quiet sounds. Bucky pulls back slightly, his tongue running up the thick vein on the underside of his dick, and then swirls his tongue around the head, licking up the precome that's beading there. "You taste good," Bucky whispers, his voice croaky, as he takes a breath before diving back down again. He starts pumping his hand at the base of Steve's cock, moving at the same rhythm as his hand.  _Up, down, up, down._ Steve's legs start trembling and Bucky rubs soothingly at his thighs.

"Buck, I'm gonna come." He whines. _"Hah!_  Gonna come."

Bucky hums and looks up at Steve, his eyes so heavy-lidded that they're almost closed. Steve flexes his hand in Bucky's hair and Bucky moans loudly, the reverberation sending overwhelming waves of pleasure through him, bringing the fine hairs on his body to stand upright, making his breath stutter. His eyes drop closed and he pants Bucky's name over and over like a litany or prayer. His muscles seize up and with a final warning, Steve shoots down the back of Bucky's throat. Bucky swallows it all greedily, licking enthusiastically at the head, only letting Steve drop from his mouth when Steve pushes him back, the oversensitivity on the wrong side of pleasurable.

Steve's eyes are still closed, his mouth hanging open as the aftershocks wrack through his body when Bucky stands up and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tugs on it with his teeth. Steve's breath is hot and heavy and Bucky can taste the coffee on it with his tongue, licks inside his mouth to chase it and groans when Steve meets his tongue for a deep and lazy kiss.

"You're wonderful, you know that?" Steve groans.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on. We've gotta get outta here before Nat finds us."

They practically fall out the door, Steve pulling up his fly as Bucky wipes his hand across his mouth. They both startle when they find Natasha stood in front of them, hands on her hips and foot tapping the floor. 

"Oops." Bucky laughs a little shakily.

"Oops is right." Natasha says, her voice cold.

"I can explain—" 

"James, this is a new low for you. And _Steve_ what the hell do you think you're doing? This place has a hygiene standard it has to meet. You can't fuck in here. It's your fucking work place and my coffee shop! Do you want me to be closed down just because you can't keep it in your goddamn pants? I thought you were better than this Steve. A few weeks with him and you're acting like an asshole too."

"Hey, that's not fair—" Steve argues, anger flaring inside him for putting Bucky down when he's already so negative when it comes to the way he thinks of himself. He doesn't need that from his best friend. "He's not an asshole and you know that. Don't put all the blame on him." 

"Oh-ho-ho, believe me. I'm not. I'm not paying you for today. Either of you. You can forget it. And trust me, I'm letting you off lightly. Any other employer would've sacked you on the spot."

"I'm sorry, Nat." Bucky says, his voice cracking slightly. Steve's heard that voice before. The quiet, shaky tone that he uses just before he's going to start crying. Steve doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way Bucky's mood can change so quickly, the way he retreats into himself when someone else is mad, the way he takes all the blame.

"Just go home. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Natasha sighs. She walks out the room throwing her arms up, her brow furrowed with anger.

"Shit." Bucky whispers once they're alone.

Steve pulls him into his arms and shushes him. "It's okay, pal. She won't be angry for long."

"I'm always letting people down." 

"Hey, that was as much my fault as it was yours." Steve comforts him.

"No, it was my idea."

"I let it happen, didn't I?"

Bucky sighs. "Can we just go home now? I'm tired."

Steve squeezes him tightly to him and kisses his forehead. "Okay, baby."

 

Steve doesn't know how it happens—except for the fact he's completely infatuated and will do anything to cheer up his upset boyfriend (eeeek!)—but he somehow ends up at Bucky's hot yoga class. It's fair to say that he doesn't entirely enjoy it. It's fucking hot and he feels like he can't breathe and Bucky laughs every time he falls over. It's clear that he's new, everyone else performing the poses perfectly while Steve wobbles and curses his way through them. He's also sweaty as hell, sweat falling in rivulets down his bare chest. Bucky looks perfect of course, his hair sticking to his face in a way that should be disgusting but just looks hot as hell. It reminds him of the first time Bucky stayed over, when he'd walked into the kitchen with nothing but a towel on around his waist. Steve has to look away, terrified that he's going to get hard when he's wearing Bucky's ridiculous short shorts. He's beyond relieved when the class finishes and he gets to shower. He has to push Bucky out of his cubicle and goes red when Bucky slaps his ass. " _There are other people in the shower room!"_ He hisses at Bucky. 

He's less than enthralled by the time they get back to the apartment and Bucky has this stupid grin on his face like he's trying not to laugh. Steve's secretly happy to see that Bucky's bad mood has gone, but he keeps up the pretence of being pissed off because he's stubborn and trying to make a goddamn point. 

"That definitely was not a beginners class!" Steve argues once he's kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat. 

"It was! You were just shit." Bucky says, following Steve into the kitchen. It's still warm in the apartment and he pulls his t-shirt over his head, momentarily distracting Steve from pulling out the ingredients for dinner.

"Way to boost confidence, Buck." Steve huffs.

"Come on. Didn't you enjoy it at least a little bit?"

"I liked that one pose. The one we did at the end." Steve admits.

"Shavasana. Everyone likes that, Steve. It's corpse pose. You don't have to do anything."

"I stand by what I said."

"You're such a baby." Bucky teases. "You work out all the time—you must be used to the burn."

"I'd take pumping iron or running over that any day. At least with those you can actually breathe."

"So you didn't enjoy it?" Bucky asks, a little crestfallen.

"I didn't say that."

"Would you go again?" Bucky asks hopefully. "If it was with me?"

Steve wants to say no, he really does, except it had been kind of fun and Bucky had been so happy when he'd gone with him. And lets be honest, Steve's a sucker for whatever puts a smile on his guy's face. "Yeah. I think I would."

Bucky hugs him from behind and kisses the nape of his neck. "We can be one of those sickening couples that goes to classes together and wears matching clothing."

Steve snorts. "No way. We are not getting matching outfits."

Bucky nips his earlobe playfully and slides his hands up and down Steve's sides. "Even if it made me the happiest man on the planet?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, I'm going to the store tomorrow. We're gonna look aces."

"Oh God, why are we together? I regret this already."

"It hasn't even been a day. Just you wait."

Steve groans.

 

It starts with a glass of red wine over dinner, but then their glasses just keep filling, one bottle turning in to two and in to three, and their eyes get glassier and glassier. By the time they move to the living room they're walking a bit unsteadily, falling down onto the couch more than just a little ungracefully. Steve's head is spinning and he feels floaty in the best way possible. Bucky climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs, and leans forward for a messy, sloppy kiss. "Want music." He murmurs against Steve's lips. Steve shoves Bucky off him, making Bucky giggle loudly, and goes to turn the stereo on. He has no idea what radio station they're listening to, but the speakers start blaring upbeat pop music and Bucky gets up and starts to dance. "Dance with me, Stevie."

"Let me go and get a drink first. I'm gonna need to be drunker if you want me to do that."

Steve fills a tumbler with whiskey and makes his way back into the living room. He stands in the doorway for a moment just watching Bucky fondly, watching the way his body moves so beautifully to the music. His movements flow to the beat so naturally even when he's drunk, the muscles in his stomach flexing in a way that makes Steve's mouth water. Steve can't believe he's his. 

He sits down on the couch, his legs splayed out as he continues to watch his boyfriend. He laughs loudly when Bucky gets up on the coffee table and starts singing a terrible rendition of Cee Lo Green's _It's OK_ to Steve, pointing at him every time he sings " _Babe it's okay, to say that you love me_." It's easily one of the funniest things that Steve has ever seen. Big, beefy, Bucky Barnes shaking his ass to cheesy pop music, flicking his hair like a girl, and spinning around in circles. 

The song changes and Bucky stumbles off the table and changes the radio station. A slow and heavy beat starts and he turns to Steve with dark eyes, the mood instantly shifting. It's the same song that was playing at the club when they'd kissed.

Rather than getting back on the table, Bucky steps into the V of Steve's legs and starts swaying his hips to the music, his body rolling sensually and his hands smoothing down his bare chest. Steve is awestruck, his dick twitching in his pants and his mouth going dry. "You like watching me, Stevie?"

Bucky fucking knows he does. He's helpless to do anything but nod, his hands clenching the edge of the couch cushion he's sat on.

"Touch me." He purrs.

It takes him a moment to process what Bucky's said and then Steve grabs his hips and pulls him forward, presses his open mouth to Bucky's stomach and bites down on the flesh there. Bucky's hips twitch forwards, a quiet gasp escaping from the back of his throat. "Yeah, just like that, baby."

Steve licks down his stomach and pulls down the waistband of Bucky's sweatpants. He mouths at both hips, nips hard enough to make Bucky yelp, and swipes his tongue across his pubic bone.

Suddenly Bucky's yanking Steve to the edge of the couch and wrapping his arms around him, bodily lifting him into the air and then shuffling blindly until he slams Steve against a wall. Steve gasps. Somehow, through all the fussing and the letting Bucky feel small, he'd forgotten how fucking strong Bucky is. He'd forgotten that Bucky has much more muscle mass than Steve, that he could probably toss him around effortlessly without breaking a sweat.

Bucky puts Steve on to his feet and then grabs one leg so he can hike it over his hip, holding his thigh up to make the position easier for Steve. He rolls his hips roughly against Steve's and Steve cries out loudly at the angle. Their cocks rub against each other just right, the thin material of their sweatpants doing little to dull the sensation. Bucky's spare hand cradles the side of Steve's face, his thumb tracing his cheekbone gently. It's in complete contrast to the way Bucky's started kissing him, his mouth open and hot, his tongue insistent as it swipes against his lips and delves into his mouth to chase the taste of him. Steve can do nothing but moan and enjoy the ride, his eyes closed, panting roughly as Bucky's movements get faster and faster. The song continues to play in the background and it seems to only make Bucky more worked up. Steve can't control the loud  _uh, uh, uh's_ he's emitting and Bucky encourages him to get louder, whispering dirty things in his ear until Steve's eyes are rolling back into his head. He's got one hand gripping Bucky's shoulder and the other twisting in his hair. Just like earlier it's making Bucky moan, but now that they're somewhere private, his moans sound like he's in a goddamn porno. The heat at the base of Steve's spine is growing and growing and the tightening in his belly tells him it's not going to be long now. He runs the hand on Bucky's shoulder down to his chest and scratches at Bucky's sensitive nipple, smiling widely through his pants at the scream it pulls from deep inside Bucky's throat.  _Steve, Steve, Steve._ Steve's legs are trembling, the one holding him up barely able to stay straight.

 _"Buck, m'gonna come."_ Steve whines.

"Come on, baby. Let me see it." Bucky grunts.

Steve yanks at Bucky's hair so hard he must have pulled some of it out and rolls his hips faster, faster, faster against Bucky's, whimpering loudly as his muscles seize up, so impossibly close he can practically taste it.  _"Buck,"_ He sobs.

"I'm here, baby. _Let go_." He whispers in his ear.

Steve screams, his back arching and his face burying into Bucky's chest as he fills his boxers, coming so hard that he blacks out for a moment. He faintly hears Bucky's own cry, the way he ruts faster and then suddenly stills and presses hard against Steve. Steve can feel the heat of Bucky's come through their pants and sobs once more. He opens his eyes and meets Bucky's wild gaze. Their mouths are open, their lips almost touching; Steve can taste the alcohol on Bucky's breath. Bucky's hair is dark where it's sticking to his forehead and temple. There's sweat on his upper lip and running down his neck. Steve bends down and licks one of the droplets, revelling in the moan Bucky releases.  _Steve, Steve, Steve._

Steve lifts his head up again and brushes their noses together. They're so close that Steve is going a little crosseyed, but he refuses to look away, not when Bucky is looking at him like he's his everything. Steve smiles and pulls at Bucky's hair; his dick twitches just a little at the way Bucky's eyelids flutter and a blissful smile stretches across his face. 

"We're doing it like this again." Steve whispers.

Bucky releases Steve's leg and pulls him into a hug, turning his head to kiss his temple before he buries his face in that space between his neck and his shoulder. "Mm. And again and again and again."

 

Only Bucky could convince Steve to smoke inside his apartment. They're laying naked on the living room floor with a bowl in between them as an ash tray, both trying to blow circles towards Steve's ceiling. They're more than just nicely drunk, the world spinning a little too quickly and their tongues loose. As always with these situations, things get heavy and solemn. Steve tells Bucky about his depression, tells him about his insomnia, his anxiety. Bucky listens quietly and then reaches over to hold his hand. He rubs his thumb over Steve's knuckles and it's like a weight has lifted from Steve's shoulders. It goes quiet for a few moments and then Bucky starts to speak—

"There's something you need to know about Brock. I don't expect you to understand, just please don't get angry. I need to tell you."

"Okay. I'll try."

"I hate him. In some capacity I really do. But he's always there for me. Always has been. And that makes everything harder, more confusing. I know how it must seem from an outside perspective, like he's abusing me, but he's only asking for something in return for everything he does for me. If I'm running low on money, he pays my bills. If I'm falling into a deep depression, he comes over, lays with me, makes sure I eat and shower and all those other day to day things that I just can't manage to do on my own. He makes sure I have food in my fridge. He's there when everything is falling apart. Always. So I just thought, so what? He wants sex in return. I can give him that. He's good looking—it's not such a chore."

"Buck, it's not right if you don't actually want it. You need to consent." Steve whispers.

"I used to. I swear I did. But then if I started doing something he didn't like—hanging out with certain people, dating, starting a second job—he started getting... rough. He comes over more now—usually when he's drunk. Those are the worst nights."

"Buck, it's not right. It's— It's rape, baby."

Bucky shakes his head vehemently. "It's not. I let him do it."

"If you don't want it though then it's not okay. He shouldn't be doing it."

"That's what I'm trying to say though. I don't want to do it anymore, but I still feel like I have to. He's good to me and I still need him."

Steve squeezes Bucky's hand and rolls over onto his side to stare at him. Bucky rolls over too, but he closes his eyes as if he's too ashamed to meet Steve's gaze.

"I don't know how to stop it, Stevie." He whimpers. "I don't want to— to _feel_ things for him. But for a long while it felt like he was the only family I had. My parents turned me away and he cared for me. I can't forget that, no matter how much I want to. I don't know how to live without him. The sex always just seemed like a necessary sacrifice. I don't like it, but I like that he looks after me, that I have a person who cares about me to go to when I need someone."

Steve lies back on his back and takes a long drag of his cigarette. "But... you don't love him, right?"

"No! _No._  I just want you." Bucky admits, his eyes flying open as if he realises what he's just insinuated. There's a sense of desperation in his eyes, of panic, like he's terrified that Steve is going to turn him away. Steve swallows thickly and nods to him, trying to convey with his eyes that it's okay, that he feels it too.

"Let me help you. Call me when you're feeling bad. Come here if he shows up. Let me look after you."

"But what if this goes wrong and he's not there anymore? I can't look after myself. I won't be able to cope."

And God, Brock's got his claws in deep. Bucky really believes all the lies he's been told, really believes he's hopeless and helpless without him. And at this point it's probably true, Bucky doesn't know how to live without him. Brock controls him, keeps him at his beck and call. Bucky thinks he's being cared for but really he's been lured into a false sense of security. Brock is there to hurt him, to rape him, to play with him like a puppet. Make him attached, make him think he can't live without him, threaten him that he's going to leave him, control him once he has his obedience, take take take. If only Steve could get him to see... 

"Yes you will. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Bucky shakes his head, his eyes watery and weepy. His lips are turned down at the corners and it tears at Steve's heart. 

"Buck, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise. You're going to be just fine."

Bucky drags himself across the carpet and slides on top of Steve, tucking his head beneath Steve's chin. He's making these horrible, quiet whimpering sounds, like he's trying to cover up the fact that he's about to cry but can't quite manage it. Steve rubs at his back and whispers gentle words into his ears. "I swear everything is going to be okay. I'm here, baby."

"I know." Bucky sniffles. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Okay, so I lied. There are major references to non-con in this chapter, so if this triggers you, PLEASE do not read it. It's only the aftermath, but please be careful.

Steve can’t sleep.

It’s been five days since Bucky went home. Five days of constant worrying and fretting. He sees him every day at work. He sees how tired and desolate he looks. It hurts to look at him. He looks so totally different to how he was when he was staying with Steve, all the happiness drained from him. Steve has to be careful because every time Bucky catches Steve watching him anxiously, he scowls and snaps an agitated, _What?_

He lets Steve kiss him in greeting, lets him kiss him goodbye. They’re full of words unsaid. An apology. A plea for Steve to understand. Steve kisses back with all he has, his arms tight around Bucky’s waist, squeezing him against his chest, hoping that he can take all the hurt away, that he can fix whatever is wrong. Bucky whimpers against him every time, but then he squirms away with an apology and disappears. Steve has no idea what’s going on, wants to barge into his apartment and demand Bucky to tell him. But he knows Bucky. He knows he has to let him come to him when he’s ready. If not, it’ll only push him further away.

Steve has tried to talk to him. Bucky’s his boyfriend after all—he has a right to receive some sort of explanation—but Bucky barely utters a word. _“Are you okay?”_ He’d asked. _“I’m fine. Gotta get back to work.”_ Bucky had replied. He’s been working diligently, on autopilot just like Steve has seen him do before. He doesn’t know how to make things better, how to get Bucky to talk to him, and it’s killing him. So here he is, pacing up and down in his living room, fisting his hair and pulling on the strands in frustration.

He’s just considering going for a jog when his phone rings. He can hear the ringtone faintly coming from inside his bedroom. He runs in to the room and his heart races when he sees Bucky’s name lit up on the screen.

“Buck? What’s wrong?” It’s 3a.m., Bucky wouldn’t be calling unless there was a problem.

“Stevie,” He hiccups, his breathing shallow.

“What is it, Buck? What’s wrong?” 

 _“I need you.”_ He sobs.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll be right there. I need you to breathe for me though, okay? Can you do that for me?” Steve says. He can hear Bucky beginning to hyperventilate, his breaths coming out closer and closer together. _“Stevie.”_

“I know, baby. In and out. _Slowly_. That’s it. Good boy. You’re being so good for me.” Bucky chokes on another sob and Steve swears under his breath as he topples over trying to pull his shoes on as fast as he can. He grabs his keys from the kitchen counter and runs out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.

He runs the entire way there and curses the fact he doesn’t own a car or a bike. He stays on the phone with Bucky, tries to calm him down, soothe him the best he can. But it’s futile. Bucky just keeps whimpering out his name, telling him he needs him, apologizing and apologizing for lord knows what. By the time Steve reaches Bucky’s door, he’s sweaty and out of breath. He bends over for a minute, breathes in for eleven counts and out for seven, and then stands up and knocks on the door. He looks at Bucky for all but a second before he dashes forward and wraps him in his arms, dropping his phone and kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky’s shaking, his body wracking with the most heartbreaking sounding sobs Steve thinks he’s ever heard. His own eyes fill with tears just listening to them. He rocks him from side to side, whispers tender words of comfort in his ear, tries futilely to stop the tears. Steve can feel the wetness against his neck. Bucky leans back for a minute and undoes Steve’s coat, pushes it off him and then buries himself back into Steve’s chest, closer to him now, closer to his warmth and his scent. Steve notices that Bucky’s wrapped in multiple layers; he feels thick and padded in his arms. He’s wearing sweatpants and a pair of thick socks, fingerless gloves on his hands. His hair is matted and clumped at the back, and Steve runs his fingers gently through the knots, shushing Bucky when he whimpers.

Steve leans down and grips Bucky’s thighs, lifts him into the air so Bucky can curl around him like a small child. He takes him over to the living area and sits down on the couch, pulls the afghan from the arm and wraps it around them both.

“It’s okay, baby.” Steve whispers, kissing the crown of his head. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky sobs, his body shaking even harder.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

And then, to Steve’s horror, Bucky howls, his hands gripping Steve’s shoulders so painfully there must be welts in the skin. He doesn’t care though. He’s focusing so hard on keeping his own sobs at bay, biting down on his lip hard enough that he can taste blood. “I didn’t— didn’t want…” Bucky croaks before sobbing loudly again.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. You don’t need to talk.”

“I d-do though.”

“Okay, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

“I tried— tried doing what you s-said.”

Steve frowns. What the hell was he talking about?

Bucky shudders, taking a wheezing, harsh breath in. “He— he—“

Steve’s stomach drops, nausea rising at just the thought of what Bucky might be about to say. Steve can’t see any bruises, any hurt, but Bucky’s covered himself up, hidden everything from Steve. God knows what was waiting underneath. “Who, baby?”

Bucky whimpers and makes a soft choking sound. Steve tries to coax him to lift his head, to let Steve take a look at him, but Bucky won’t budge from where his face is buried in that space between his neck and shoulder. “Him.”

“Brock?”

Bucky nods slowly and tries to pull Steve even closer against him. There’s no gap to close though. Steve holds him tighter, lets Bucky feel encompassed, lets him know that Steve’s not going to let go. “Did he hurt you, Buck?”

Bucky nods again.

“Where?”

Bucky shakes his head, his body beginning to shake again as a new bout of tears come. Steve rubs his back, kisses the top of his head, his temple, strokes his arms and his thighs. After a few moments Steve feels him turn lax in his arms. He tries to move, to lay them both down, but Bucky cries out and grips his harder, clearly terrified that Steve’s about to leave him. “Shh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please d-don’t.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

“Please. P-Please.” He cries.

Steve doesn’t know what to do. He can’t do anything if Bucky doesn’t tell him what’s wrong, what Brock’s done. He doesn’t want to ask though, doesn’t want to make him more upset. “I promise I’m not leaving you. Okay?”

“You will.” He whispers.

“And why would I ever do that, hm?”

“I-I— Brock— He…” Bucky shudders violently, biting down on Steve’s shoulder. “I tried doing w-what you said. Telling him no. But—But he wouldn’t s-stop.”

Steve squeezes his eyes closed and tries to push down the fury that’s burning at his insides. If he’s done what Bucky’s insinuating… “Can you tell me what happened next?”

Bucky wriggles backwards and looks away, his red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes staring into space somewhere beside Steve’s head. They’ve turned flat, cold, unfeeling, but his chest is still rising and falling rapidly, his throat bobbing as he continues to swallow. “I let him. I let him do it.”

“It’s not your fault, baby. I promise you, it’s not your fault.”

Bucky’s body curls in on itself as Bucky starts sobbing again, his hands covering his face as he collapses back down onto Steve’s chest. “He pushed me down and— and— He said I-I w-was a whore. I know I am. I know I am. I swear I do.”

Steve grits his teeth, doesn’t even fight the tears this time. “No you’re not.”

“I am. I let him f-f-fuck me.”

Steve presses kiss after kiss to Bucky’s temple, the pressure increasing on each one. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” He yells, leaning back and thumping his fists against Steve’s chest. Steve lets him, lets his own face crumple at the hatred, anger, desperation, and utter despair shining through his boyfriend's eyes. He sobs loudly and pounds and pounds, the contact not as painful as it could be. It hurts Steve, but not badly. He doesn’t think he could tell Bucky to stop even if he wanted to. He’s too devastated.

“Buck, stop. You’re okay now.” Steve murmurs, sliding his hands underneath the old, tatty hoodie he’s wearing. Bucky shoots back so fast he falls down on the floor and smacks his head on the coffee table. Steve puts his hands up placating, wanting desperately to lean forward and touch him, but too aware that that’s about the worst thing he could do right now.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Okay, baby. I promise.”

“I-I’m dirty. He’s all over me. I can’t get him off. I can’t get his hands off me. I sh-showered, but it won’t come off. I can still smell him.” He sobs.

Steve sees the layers for what they are now. Protection. He doesn’t want Steve to touch his body, not after Brock’s ‘tainted’ it. Steve reaches his arms out, swallowing thickly when Bucky flinches. “Please let me hold you. _Please_.”

Bucky gets up unsurely and slides back into Steve’s lap. It’s quiet for a moment and then he whispers, his voice no more than a murmured croak, “He didn’t use any lube.”

“What?” Steve chokes.

“Told me I needed to l-learn my lesson. Needed it t-to hurt so I remember,” He takes a deep breath and stares deeply into Steve’s eyes, “who I belong to.”

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, brushing Bucky’s hair back from where it’s clinging to his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t want to address what Bucky just said. He feels too guilty. If they weren’t together… But, no. This was happening before. Right?

Bucky nods, a shudder running through his body. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie, two sweaters, and a shirt, up and Steve looks down in horror at the dark finger-shaped bruises on his wrists. “I did— I struggled a little this time. Remembered what you s-said. But he’s strong. Stronger than m-me apparently.”

“Oh, baby.” Steve whispers. He pulls off Bucky’s gloves and takes his hands in his own, runs his thumbs over the marks. “Can you show me the rest?”

Bucky screws up his face. “It’s ugly. I-I’m disgusting, _dirty_.”

A quiet sob escapes from Steve’s chest. “You’re beautiful, Buck. I won’t hurt you. I just want to check you’re okay.”

Bucky sits silently for a moment, looking down at where his hands are fisted in Steve’s sweatshirt, just thinking, and then he says, “Okay.”

Steve picks him up and carries him into the bedroom, looks down at the rumpled sheets, the pillows strewn on the floor presumably from the struggle, Bucky’s lamp knocked from the bedside table. “I’m gonna change your sheets.” He decides.

Bucky stands by the window and stares down at the floor, his arms wrapped around his waist. Steve moves quickly and silently, glancing every now and then at Bucky. He finishes in record time; he’s worried about the place Bucky’s disappeared to in his head. “Buck?” He whispers as he approaches him.

Bucky looks up blankly. “Steve?”

“D’ya still want to do this? We don’t have to.”

“It hurts.”

“Okay, baby. Lets get your clothes off then.” Steve steps forward and grabs hold of the hem of his hoodie. Bucky whimpers as it’s pulled off him, looks at Steve with a quivering bottom lip. Steve cups his cheek and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright, sweetheart.”

“Keep going.” Bucky says hoarsely.

Steve nods, pulling off the two sweaters, the Henley, and his vest. There’s more finger marks on his biceps and deep teeth marks on his right pectoral. Steve leans down and kisses it softly, stroking Bucky’s side when he whines. “Still okay?” He asks when he moves his hands to the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants.

Bucky’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s started shaking, but he still nods his head. “Just do it.”

“Why don’t you lie down first? You’ve got nice clean sheets. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“B-but that’s where he—“

“It’s clean I promise. It doesn’t smell like him.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lays down, shuffles up the bed until his head is resting on the plumped pillows.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna take your pants off now, alright?”

“Mhm.”

Steve moves slowly, ready to stop at any moment if Bucky needs him to. But, Bucky, his brave baby, stays silent. His hands are clenched in the sheets. Steve smooth’s his palms up and down Bucky’s bare thighs once his sweatpants are off, leans down to kiss more finger-shaped bruises, on his hips and his thighs.

“We don’t have to do any more if you don’t want to.” Steve whispers.

“It— That’s where it hurts though.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go and get some polysporin and I’ll be right back.”

Bucky grabs his hand and squeezes. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Steve curses under his breath as he rummages through the medicine cabinet, scrubbing harshly at his eyes. He needs to keep it together for Bucky, but God does he want to hit something, tear something apart, throw something, smash something to pieces. Instead, he takes a deep breath, composes himself, and goes out to Bucky. He’s exactly where Steve left him, but now he’s completely naked and he’s staring up at the ceiling with gritted teeth.

Steve kneels at the end of the bed and gently massages Bucky’s legs, presses a light kiss to each kneecap. Bucky releases a shaky breath. “It— You don’t have to do this, Stevie.”

“I lo— You’re my boyfriend, Buck. I care about you. I want to do this.”

“O-okay.” He murmurs. “Just do it.”

Steve pushes Bucky’s legs up until his feet are resting on the bed and his legs have formed a wide V. “Oh, baby.” He whispers, his eyes filling with tears. His hole is red, puffy and inflamed, some dried blood crusted at the opening. He continues to stare at it as he squirts some of the cream onto his fingertips, watches as Bucky’s ass keeps clenching and unclenching. “This is gonna be a little cold, okay? It might hurt a bit.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s a horrible sound. Steve wishes he could unhear it. “It can’t be any worse than—“ He breaks off with a hiss. Steve is rubbing lightly with two fingertips, cleaning the blood off and massaging the tense, swollen pucker. He moans out in pain and Steve winces. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he knows this is going to make him feel a lot better in a couple of minutes. Gradually his hole relaxes a little, the tension disappearing as Steve rubs the skin lightly. Steve’s surprised to say the least when Bucky starts rocking back against his fingers. “Buck?”

“Feels better. Feels good.” He croaks.

“Good. You’re doing so good, baby.”

“I want you to lick me.” He says.

“Buck…” Steve frowns. He can’t seriously…

“Lick me. Please lick me.”

“Buck, I don’t think—“

“Please. _Please.”_ Steve looks up and Bucky’s got his hands over his eyes, his shoulders shaking with a new round of sobs.

Steve crawls up the bed and settles beside Bucky. He tries his best to maneuver them under the sheets, but it’s quite a feat when Bucky’s clinging to him like his life’s depending on it. He’s whimpering, his breath catching, and Steve can do nothing more than wrap the comforter tightly around him, hold him, and stroke his head while he cries. He knows the tears are therapeutic, that they’re giving him a release, but it’s so painful to watch. Steve just wants to take away all the pain, put it all on his own shoulders. His _baby_.

He stares unseeingly at the wall opposite him when Bucky finally falls asleep, snoring lightly. Steve thinks it's the best sound he's ever heard, thinks Bucky's relaxed expression is the best thing he's ever seen. He lets his own tears fall, lets himself break down a little. He's quiet, terrified of waking Bucky up. It hurts so damn much. He should have protected him. He  _promised._ He should've never let him come home, never should have left him vulnerable to Brock. This was all his fault. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Brock would show up, just like Bucky had said. Perhaps that's why Bucky had been so off all week; he had been waiting for the inevitable. Steve should've worked it out. That was his job. He should have protected him, kept him safe. He failed, and now he's got to deal with the aftermath.

This is the last straw, he thinks. He's going to find Rumlow, and when he does... Well, Steve'll definitely struggle not to kill him.

 

Bucky refuses to get out of bed the next morning.

Steve borrows some of his clothes and goes for an early morning run because he’s desperate to clear his head. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky, it practically pains him, but he’s been going stir crazy. He didn’t sleep a wink all night. It felt like the sun was never going to rise.

When he returns, Bucky’s curled around his pillow. He’s awake; his eyes red-rimmed and fixed on Steve’s sweaty figure. He looks like he’s been betrayed. His eyes fill with tears and Steve rushes forward, climbing over the bed to press a kiss to his forehead. “I thought you left me.” Bucky whimpers.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Steve whispers. “I just went for a run.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky nods with a sniffle, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It’s the first one they’ve shared for a couple of days and Steve wants to enjoy it, but it just hurts. He can feel the desperation in the way Bucky presses into it, the way he clasps Steve’s neck tightly.

“I’m gonna shower. You want to join me?” Steve asks. 

Bucky shakes his head.

When Steve comes back he can hear sniffling. He goes into the bedroom and whimpers when he sees there are tears streaming down Bucky’s face again. Steve drops to his knees beside the bed and wipes them away, brushes his hair out of his eyes, coos sadly at him. “Come on, Buck. Lets have some breakfast. I’ll make you pancakes. You’ll feel better, baby.”

“No.” Bucky says, rolling away from Steve.

“You sure? You should really eat something.”

“No.” Bucky whispers.

Steve walks away and into the living area, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. Doesn’t know what to do to make Bucky feel better. He just feels so _useless._ He hates it.

 

Steve is reading one of Bucky’s books when his phone rings. He answers with a sigh, his hello heavy and miserable.

“Steve?” It’s Natasha.

“Yeah. S’me.”

“You can’t just text me and tell me you’re not coming in. What the hell are you two doing? If you’re fucking, I’m firing you right now.” She says, anger laced in her voice. “I know James has been going through some shit, but this is getting ridiculous now. He never used to miss a day of work and now he’s barely here.”

“It’s bad, Nat.” Steve whispers. He doesn’t want to wake Bucky up. He’s only just cried himself out. “He’s not doing so good.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” She sounds worried now, her voice low and a little shaky.

“It’s gotta come from him, but he won’t stop crying. He won’t get outta bed. I don’t know what to do, Nat.”

“I-I’ll come over right after closing.”

“I’m not sure—“

“Steve, he’s my best friend. If there’s something wrong, I’m not just gonna take a step back.”

“Okay. We’re at his place.”

“I’ll be there around seven-thirty.”

“Hopefully he’ll be up by then. I’m not sure he’s gonna be up for talking though. He’s barely said a word today.”

“I’ll get something out of him. I’ve been dealing with that asshole for years.”

Steve laughs, but it’s weak and halfhearted. “I hope you do.”

“Don’t worry, Steve. He’s tough. He’ll pull through.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, letting his head hang down, chin to chest. “Bye, Nat.”

 

“He’s in the bedroom.” Steve says when he lets Natasha in. She looks tired from a long day of work, but she still manages to give Steve a small smile. Steve wishes he could return it. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Natasha nods and leaves Steve alone. He’s secretly glad the only partition between the two spaces is the bookshelf. He can hear everything that’s being said. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but he just wants to know if Bucky’s okay, just wants to make sure Natasha doesn’t say anything that’ll upset him. He knows she’d never do anything intentionally, but she doesn’t know what’s happened, she doesn’t know that certain things could trigger him.

He listens as she tries to coax Bucky to get up, listens to her talk about the coffee shop and jokingly reprimand him for leaving her alone with Bruce and Wanda. Bucky doesn’t say anything and Steve gets up, pacing up and down. He thinks at this point he almost misses the hysteria of last night, anything but this silence. But then, “I want Steve,” Bucky whimpers.

“I’m right here.” Steve says, rushing into the bedroom. Bucky sits up and reaches out for him. He sits on the bed and Bucky crawls from under the covers and climbs into his lap, his face immediately pressing into Steve’s neck. He'd woken in the night screaming, panicking about his nakedness, so now he's wrapped in all his layers again. He’s whimpering softly and Steve looks up at Natasha in despair. She looks down at him in surprise, and Steve notices her throat bobbing as she swallows thickly.

“I didn’t realize.” She whispers. “I didn’t know things had gotten this bad. He never usually gets like this.”

Steve nods solemnly, rubbing Bucky’s back. He feels so big, but small in his arms. He thinks he can feel his heart breaking.

“Stevie.” Bucky whispers. It’s a sentence all by itself. A plea. Silently begging Steve to take the pain away. It's not physical pain he’s fighting any more. It’s a deep, deep emotional one. Steve wonders helplessly how long it’s going to take for him to heal, if he ever will.

“I’ve got you.” He says, for little else to say. What can he tell him? It’s alright? He’s said that so many times the phrase has lost it’s meaning. It’s just something else to say to fill the silences.

“James?” Natasha says softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Please. You’re worrying me.”

Bucky sits up straight and looks at Steve, his eyes sad and exhausted. Steve nods at him, a small tilt of his head, and presses a light kiss to his lips. Bucky sighs and then turns to face Natasha.

He gives her the short version, missing out the non-consensual sex, careful skirting around it. Steve rubs his back the entire time, the large, firm circles that he seems to find so comforting. His voice is hoarse from all the crying he did last night, but Steve’s proud of him for how well he’s doing. He hasn’t broken down once. But Steve can hear the flatness of his voice, knows that he’s distancing himself from all of it in his mind, pushing his emotions somewhere down deep. Steve watches the concern on Natasha’s face and smiles sadly when he sees the anger resonating there. At least he doesn’t have to be alone in that anymore.

“James, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask us for money?”

“Because you didn’t have any either, Nat. You and Clint had already done enough for me.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You know we would have done more. We’re your best friends. We’d do anything for you.”

Bucky whimpers and takes Steve’s hand in his own, squeezing almost painfully. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. That bastard however… I swear, when I get my hands on him…”

“Nat, don’t.”

“I’m not just going to do nothing, James. He hurt you. _Used_ you.”

She doesn’t know the half of it, Steve thinks. He can feel Bucky starting to shake in his arms and he knows exactly what he’s thinking about. _Used you._

“I’m gonna stay here with him for a bit. If Brock shows up, I’ll deal with him.” Steve tells her.

She nods firmly. “Good idea.”

“If you could give us a couple of days before we come back to work…”

“Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Nat.” Steve says sincerely. When it comes down to it, Natasha is just about the best friend anyone could ever have.

“I better go. It’s pizza night and Clint’ll be getting impatient.”

Bucky snorts. It’s barely there, but it’s something. Steve beams.

“I’ll see you soon.” Natasha says, stepping forward and stroking Bucky’s hair. If she notices the way Bucky cowers and flinches at the touch, she doesn't show it. “No slacking off for too long, you hear? And you call me. Every day.”

Bucky nods. “Promise.”

“I’ll let myself out. Get some rest. Both of you.”

“We will.” Steve says.

“Is— Can we still have pancakes?” Bucky asks softly when the front door falls closed.

Steve smiles down at him, pressing a small kiss on his nose that makes him smile too. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Bucky sits upright and presses his lips to Steve’s. Bucky’s face is hot from crying and he tastes kind of like salt and morning breath, but it’s the best kiss Steve thinks he’s ever had. Steve kisses him and kisses him, gently, softly, lovingly. He kisses the hurt from him, the pain, doesn't stop until Bucky's sighing quietly into his mouth. He pulls back and looks down, sees Bucky smiling up at him and yeah, that's better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise no other chapters will be as bad as this! Again, I'm so sorry...


	14. Chapter 14

Steve’s whistling _‘Whistle While You Work,’_ and cleaning the counter when he spots him. Dressed in his dark peacoat and scruffy jeans, Bucky is shuffling around outside, talking to himself as he paces back and forth, cigarette hanging from between his lips. He looks, and not for the first time, like a male model in a photo shoot. Tall and devastatingly handsome, his hair blowing in the wind, his jawline sharp and cut. Steve sighs. He’s not even trying and he’s already gorgeous. He doesn’t even  _know._  That’s what kills Steve the most. He has no idea how beautiful he is, what he does to Steve by simply just existing.

It’s been a few days since everything went down, and Bucky’s still been struggling to get out of bed. He’s been doing pretty well considering. Showering and eating, even reading a little. Mostly he just wants to keep warm and cling to Steve for as long as he can, cuddle and kiss sweetly until he falls back into a slumber. Eventually Nat had called though, and Steve had to go back to work.

It was painful leaving him, almost impossible for him to do so. Bucky had watched silently as he got dressed out of the corner of his eye, his face half mushed into Steve’s pillow, breathing in his scent. He looked so sad and tired, so young with the covers tucked up under his chin. Steve’s heart just about broke when he kissed him goodbye, listening to Bucky whimper, and then walked out the door. He walked the whole way to work with a knot in his stomach, a knot that is tight now as he anxiously watches Bucky out the window.

“Nat, will you give me two minutes?” Steve asks as he rounds the counter. He nods towards where Bucky is standing and smiles tiredly at Natasha. “He’s supposed to be at home.”

“Take all the time you need.” She replies.

Steve wishes instantly that he’d had the common sense to grab his coat before he came outside. A single sweater and an apron is doing nothing to keep him warm in the harsh New York weather. He coughs as the cold air hits his lungs and Bucky turns to him with a start, abruptly stopping his pacing.

“What’re you doing here, Buck?” He asks softly.

Bucky takes a long drag of his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing beautifully to accentuate his cheekbones. He looks in the other direction to blow the smoke away from Steve’s face. “Didn’t want to be alone.”

Steve hums. “Want a cup of coffee? I’m buying.”

Bucky turns back to him with a small smile on his face. “Our coffee’s free, pal.”

Steve snorts. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Bucky takes another drag and then tilts his face up, blowing out a perfect circle that drifts upwards towards the sky. His eyes are closed, his face the perfect picture of serenity. Steve knows he feels anything but.

“You doing okay?”

Bucky drops the cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. Then he steps closer to Steve and wraps his arms around his waist, pushes his face into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder. Steve hugs him tightly. “Tired.”

“Did you go back to sleep after I left?”

“Nah, wasn’t the same without you stealing all the covers.” Bucky says, poking Steve in the side.

“I do not do that.”

It goes quiet for a moment and it’s peaceful, Steve rocking Bucky back and forth on the snow covered street. Steve lives for moments like these—when the world seems to slip away and it’s just them, Steve and Bucky. There’s no Brock, Bucky never got hurt, Steve’s mother never died. They can just bask in the warmth of each other, the comfort that holding one another brings. Steve forgets that it’s cold, forgets that he’s supposed to be working, forgets everything other than the man in his arms. But then he opens his eyes and sees Natasha watching them with a smile on her face, and he’s brought painfully back down to reality. “We should go inside.”

“Don’t wanna move.” Bucky mumbles into the crook of Steve’s neck. His breath is hot on Steve’s skin and it makes him shiver.

“I’ve got to go back to work, Buck. Nat’s all alone in there.”

“But it’s not busy.”

“It’s warm in there. You don’t want us to get hypothermia do you?”

Bucky huffs dramatically, “Fine.”

The warm air whooshes over them when they open the door and Steve sighs in relief. He takes Bucky by the hand and leads him into the backroom. “What are you doing?” He asks when Bucky hangs up his coat and puts an apron over his head.

“I can’t just do nothin’ anymore, Steve. I’m startin’ to go crazy.”

Steve nods. “Okay. But sit and have a coffee first, yeah? You look exhausted.”

“Alright,  _mom.”_  

“Long time no see, stranger.” Natasha says when they come back out, walking over and pulling Bucky into a hug. She kisses him on the cheek and rubs his back fondly.

“Nat, it’s been four days.” Bucky says, clearly a little taken aback and embarrassed by Natasha’s rare show of affection.

“You’re doing okay?” She asks, holding him at arm’s length so she can look him over.

“Yeah.”

Steve frowns at the way Bucky clenches his fists at the question. He’s doing better, he really is, but Steve knows he’s not doing as well as he’s making out. He’s not okay, and he’s sick of the question. He’s doing better physically. He’s not limping anymore or wincing whenever he sits down. It’s good that that reminder has gone at least. But he still flinches a little if Steve touches him before he sees him. It breaks Steve’s heart every time.

“What d’ya want, baby? Americano? Latte?”

“Americano. Black.” Bucky says, stepping back from Natasha and walking behind the counter to where Steve’s already started making the beverage. “Can you make it really hot? Like, burn your mouth hot.”

Steve frowns. “Why d’ya want that?”

“Makes the mug warm and my hands are freezing. I forgot my gloves.”

Steve nods. “As long as you don’t drink it too soon.”

“Seriously, Steve. I’m a grown man. I’m not an idiot.”

Steve ruffles his hair, much to Bucky’s chagrin, and leans over to press a kiss to his temple. “Just lookin’ out for my best guy is all.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth. He looks up with puckered lips, waiting for Steve’s kiss. He relaxes into it immediately with a soft sigh, his hands moving to Steve’s chest. It’s warm and dry and reminiscent of all the other kisses they’ve been exchanging over the past couple of days.

“Um, boys.” Natasha interrupts. “Not here please.”

Steve pulls back reluctantly and gives her a small smile. “Sorry.”

“Go sit down, James. Take your coffee. Steve’s on his lunch break in half an hour; you can talk to him then.”

Bucky grumbles, but he does as he’s told. Steve watches him go with a fond smile on his face and startles when Natasha snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Steve.”

“Wha—? Sorry.”

“Honestly, you two make me wanna puke.” Natasha laughs.

“I just wanna make sure he’s okay.”

“I know. Me too.” She says. “How’s he doing really? I know he tries to put on a brave face and internalize everything.”

“He’s not too bad. He’s talking more, but he’s nervous about being alone, even if it’s just while I’m in the bathroom.”

Natasha frowns. “That’s— Well…”

“I know. I'm worried too.” Steve says.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night? It might help him to get out and do something.”

“I’ll see what he says, but that sounds great.”

Natasha nods at him. “Let me know if I can do anything. Okay? You can call me any time.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“He’s my best friend, Steve. I’d do anything for that asshole.”

“Me too, Nat. Me too.”

“I’m glad he has you. He’s been lonely for a long time.”

Steve nods. “Well, so have I.”

Natasha smiles sympathetically. “I know.”

“We’re both messes. It’s kinda worked out perfectly.”

“Yeah, because you’re both idiots.”

“That too.” Steve laughs.

“Seriously though. Thank you, for looking after him and making him happy.”

Steve looks down, his cheeks warming. “I’m just doing my best. I like him. A lot.”

“I can see that.” She grins.

“Kinda hurts actually.”

“If it helps, I can tell he really likes you too. Maybe more than likes.”

“Really?” Steve asks, his head snapping up.

“Yeah.” Natasha smiles.

Steve’s chest warms at the thought and he can’t help but look over to the corner where Bucky is sat playing on his phone. As if he can sense Steve’s eyes on him, he looks up and smiles shyly at him. And yeah, Steve definitely more than likes him too.

 

The moment they get home, Bucky turns on him and presses their lips together, pushing Steve backwards into the door. Steve makes a short noise of surprise, his hands shooting up to grip at Bucky’s shoulders, but quickly gives back as good as he gets. It’s desperate and heated almost straight away and he moans into it loudly. It’s the first time they’ve kissed like this in over a week and he’s hungry for it.

“Buck—“ He murmurs when Bucky tugs off Steve’s coat and pushes his cold hands beneath his sweatshirt. “I didn’t think—“

Bucky struggles out of his own coat and then quickly strips off his sweater and t-shirt. “Want your hands on me, Stevie.”

“But—“

“Don’t baby me, Steve. _Please._ Just touch me. I need this.”

“Get on the couch.” Steve whispers, pecking him lightly on the cheek. He laughs as Bucky practically runs and dives onto it, following behind him at a more leisurely pace.

“Ste-e-eve,” Bucky whines. “Hurry up. I’m cold without you.”

Steve rolls his eyes but quickly pulls his sweatshirt over his head and lies down on top of his boyfriend. “Better?”

Bucky hums. “Much.”

Steve knocks their foreheads together and cradles Bucky’s face in his hands, kisses him softly until Bucky shudders beneath him. He smiles at the hitching of Bucky’s breath as he slides his hands down, his fingertips trailing down his neck, his palms rubbing over his shoulders. Bucky pushes his chest up into his hands and Steve knows what he’s asking for, knows exactly how much Bucky likes this. He tweaks his nipples gently, smiles when Bucky whimpers and presses their lips together. “More,” He pants. Steve scratches at them lightly, watching hungrily as Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, and then squeezes them tightly between thumb and forefinger. Bucky rocks up into the movement, lets his head fall back with a high-pitched whine.

“You like that, baby?”

“More. Please. _More.”_

“One day, I’m gonna make you come like this.” Steve whispers in his ear. “Just from me playing with your pretty little nipples.”

 _“Please.”_ Bucky whimpers.

Steve bends down and wraps his lips around his left nipple, sucks gently before nipping sharply. Bucky lets out a small shout and twists his fingers in Steve’s hair, his chest heaving. Steve laves the flat of his tongue over it in long, gentle motions and reaches over to pull and tug on the other nipple with his fingertips. Bucky’s head lolls on the arm of the couch and his legs move from beneath Steve to wrap around his waist. He rolls his hips up and Steve breathes out heavily at the sudden feeling of friction against his half hard cock. “God, _Steve_.” Bucky moans loudly. “Want my pants off. Want your pants off.”

Steve leans back, giving one final kiss to Bucky’s nipple, and sits up onto his knees. “I don’t think we should go any further, Buck.”

“Don’t you want me anymore?” Bucky asks, his voice shaky. He’s looking up at Steve desperately, his eyes wide and afraid.

Steve rubs Bucky’s thighs comfortingly and smiles sadly down at him. “You know I do, baby.”

“Then _show_ me. I’m not gonna break.”

“It’s just… after what he did to you. I don’t wanna—“

“Steve, please.” Bucky whispers, tears beginning to fill his eyes. “Please don’t say no. Don’t make him be the last person that touched me.”

And Steve sees it then. The disgust Bucky feels for his own body. The hands he can still feel on him. He can see Bucky’s fear that Steve’s going to reject him, that Steve’s going to think he’s dirty or damaged goods, that Steve doesn’t want him anymore. He can see how terrified Bucky is. It makes him so goddamn angry. Brock has broken something in him. The Bucky that had always seemed so comfortable and confident about sex is suddenly so timid, so afraid. Steve knows he needs to be careful here, that he needs to watch Bucky diligently, and make sure he doesn’t go too far. He can’t say no though, not when Bucky’s so desperate to be touched, to be loved. So with no more hesitation he leans down and kisses him, whispers against his lips, “Okay, baby.”

Bucky whimpers, the tears spilling over when Steve presses their lips together again. He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, his breath coming out short as Steve stares down at him and wipes at his cheeks. _Please,_ Bucky mouths. Steve bends down and presses a kiss to that spot just beneath Bucky’s ear that has always been so sensitive and sucks, and just like last time, it has Bucky whining quietly into Steve’s ear. He opens his mouth and drags his lips down the column of Bucky’s neck, licks back up quickly before beginning to suck a bruise into the dip of his collarbone.

“Pants, Stevie.” Bucky sighs.

Steve stands up so they can both get out of their jeans, his eyes never straying from Bucky’s as he throws both pairs across the room and climbs back onto the couch, sliding between Bucky’s open thighs. Bucky groans at the first roll of Steve’s hips, the feel of their cocks rubbing together through the thin layers of cotton sending a spark of pleasure up his spine. “That feel good, Buck?”

“Mhm.” He murmurs, his spine arching and his eyes fluttering closed.

Steve goes back to sucking and playing with his nipples as he continues the movements of his hips. He keeps going until Bucky’s keening, until he reaches down and finds the front of his underwear wet.

“You want me to eat you out, Buck?” Steve whispers into his ear, grinning widely when Bucky shudders against him.

“W-what?”

“The other day, you asked me to lick you. Is that what you like? Is that what you want?”

“Steve you don’t have to—“

“Because I love going down on people. ‘S my favourite part about sex.”

“Really?” Bucky squeaks.

“So if you like it, tell me.”

“I do. Steve—“ Bucky whines, gasping when Steve moves down his body and starts tugging at his boxers. “Oh God, please.”

“I’m gonna get you on the bed, okay? This couch is too small.”

Bucky just nods, gripping tightly onto Steve’s shoulders as he’s lifted and carried across the apartment. He’s lowered down gently onto the soft comforter, his ass at the edge of the bed so his legs hang down and his feet touch the floor. Steve leans over him and kisses him roughly, his tongue sliding expertly into Bucky’s mouth and massaging against Bucky’s. He kisses down his neck and down his chest, kisses his hipbones before dropping to his knees. He takes hold of Bucky’s calves and pushes them upwards, arranging Bucky so his legs are folded to his chest. Steve leans forward and gives a tiny experimental lick. But that’s all it takes before Bucky is pushing his head away.

“No, wait— Wait… I-I don’t think I can do this. I can’t—“ Bucky chokes out, his breath quickening rapidly.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, baby. I’m not gonna touch you.” Steve says, moving back and getting to his feet.

“No, it’s not okay.” Bucky says, his body twitching as he tries to hold down a sob. He moves back on the bed until his head is resting on the pillow. “I want— wanted—“

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“But I wanted to.” He cries, his hands lifting to cover his face.

Steve picks up Bucky’s underwear from the floor and quickly tugs them back up Bucky’s legs. His face crumples a little when Bucky rolls over onto his side and curls up into the foetal position. He crawls onto the bed and lies in front of Bucky, reaching out to smooth some of the hair out of his face. “Can I hug you?”

Bucky nods with a sniffle, shuffling forward and straightening his legs. Steve takes him into his arms and presses a kiss to his temple, starts rubbing his back the way Steve knows he likes best. “We can try again.”

“I didn’t— I don’t want—“ Bucky cries.

“Take a deep breath, baby.”

Bucky does as Steve says, his exhale shuddery and heavy. “I didn’t want him to be the last person who touched me. I wanted it to be you.”

“I’m touching you now.”

“He came inside me. He _marked_ me.”

“You feel this here?” Steve whispers, pressing down on the bruise he’s made on Bucky’s neck.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s me. That’s not him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And besides. No one can make you theirs, Buck. You’re not his. You’re not mine either. You belong to yourself.”

Bucky tilts his head up and looks at Steve with big, watery eyes. “You still want me though? You’ll… wait?”

Steve presses his lips to his forehead. “Of course I will. I’ll wait however long it takes.”

“I still wanna kiss and stuff. I’m just— I’m not ready to be touched _there.”_

“I know, buddy. We can take it slow.”

“Like high school sweethearts?”

Steve laughs. “Exactly.”

Bucky sighs heavily and pouts up at Steve. “I just wanna have sex.”

“We will do soon. As soon as you’re ready.”

“I wanna be ready now. I’m horny.”

“You were okay when I touched your dick, right?”

Bucky nods slowly and bites down on his bottom lip. “Mhm.”

“You wanna try that again?”

“Please.”

Steve takes a deep breath and runs a hand down Bucky’s chest, kissing him comfortingly on the lips when he shivers. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He says as he slowly moves his hand to cup Bucky’s dick. Bucky chokes on a gasp, one hand shooting down to grasp Steve’s forearm. “Too much?”

“No. _More.”_

Steve slides his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, taking a gentle hold of Bucky’s half hard cock and carefully beginning to move up and down. Bucky whines at the touch and buries his face in Steve’s chest, his breath hot and wet against Steve’s skin. He grips him more firmly, building in confidence now that Bucky isn’t pushing him away or showing any signs of distress, and thumbs gently at the head. Bucky’s spine arches at that and he lets out a loud moan. “That feel good, baby?”

“Mm— Mm-hm…”

He moves faster, spurred on by the small _uh uh uh’s_ that Bucky starts to make after every stroke, and watches with rapture as Bucky’s brow furrows and his jaws falls slack. He slides his hand down lower and massages Bucky’s balls, and just as Steve remembers, Bucky cries out, his eyes flying open and fixing heatedly on Steve. “ _Auh… Nghh—“_

Steve leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Bucky top lip, then sucks on his bottom lip and nips it sharply. Bucky’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his hips begin to thrust upwards, pushing his dick up into Steve’s fist, a long continuous moan falling from his mouth. “You gonna come for me, Buck?”

“ _Steve,”_ Bucky pants. “Wanna— _ah!_ Wa— _Nghh_ … —na come.”

Steve pumps harder, faster, up down, up down, until Bucky’s screaming, his dick so hard in Steve’s hand that it must hurt. _“Please!”_ He cries out.

“Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

Bucky rocks his hips desperately, grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair and tugs painfully. His mouth is wide open, his eyes squeezed shut, so focused on chasing that sweet, sweet release. “M’gonna… _Stevie.”_

Steve keeps up the movement of his hand and leans down, sucks a nipple into his mouth and bites down. Just like that, Bucky comes. He screams and his body spasms as hot, thick streaks spurt out and cover Steve’s hand and stomach. He chants Steve’s name over and over, tears falling from his eyes as he thrusts for the last time before stilling and slumping forward onto Steve’s chest. Steve wipes his hand on the covers, and then wraps his arms around him, shushing him softly when he whimpers.

“You feel better, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods lethargically, one hand sliding up the back of Steve’s neck to stroke at the fine hairs there. Steve shivers with pleasure and tugs him closer.

“We should shower.”

“Don’t wanna.” Bucky mumbles. “Wanna sleep.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky always seems to get so sleepy after sex. “Well I’m gonna shower. I’m covered in your spunk.”

Bucky snorts. “You love being covered in my spunk.”

“Not when it dries I don’t.” Steve says, wriggling out from beneath Bucky. “You coming?”

“I just did.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Buck.” Steve says as he walks towards the bathroom.

Bucky pushes himself up and turns round to look at Steve. “Can we have take out after and build a blanket fort in the living room?”

“If you come shower then yes.”

“You’re a menace Steve Rogers.”

"A menace that'll wash your hair for you if you hurry up."

"I'm coming!" He yells.

Steve can't help but laugh.

 

Steve wakes up to the sound of soft piano music. He smiles lightly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and gets out of bed. In the living room Bucky is sat half-dressed at his piano, his fingers moving hypnotically over the keys.

“What is this?” Steve whispers, moving to stand behind him. “I think I’ve heard it before.”

“Clair de Lune. Debussy.” Bucky says, his voice still thick with sleep.

Steve rests his fingertips against Bucky’s shoulders, runs them lightly down to his middle back and up again. Bucky shivers but doesn’t stop playing. “It’s beautiful, Buck.”

Steve can see the small upturning of Bucky’s lips in the reflection of the shiny black piano’s surface, can see the way he preens slightly at the compliment. “My mom taught me how to play.”

“She must be a good teacher.”

“She was.” Bucky says quietly.

Steve mentally kicks himself. Of course, Bucky’s mother threw him out and hasn’t spoken to him since. Steve leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of his head in apology. He massages his shoulders, smiling when the music starts to slow down and Bucky leans back into it. He moans softly and lets his head drop down to his chest.

“Nat asked if we wanted to hang out with her and Clint tonight.” Steve says conversationally.

“Mm?”

“D’ya fancy it?”

“I dunno.” Bucky says, sounding almost drunk with pleasure.

“Okay. You don’t need to decide now. See how you feel after work.”

Bucky groans and tilts his head back until he can peer up at Steve. He has a frown on his face and is pouting childishly. “I don’t wanna go to work.”

Steve leans down for an upside down kiss, flicks his tongue out to tease Bucky, and then stands upright again. Bucky is pouting even harder now and Steve chuckles fondly. “What?”

“Kiss me.”

Steve rolls his eyes and moves to sit down on the couch. Bucky follows him like a dog after its owner and climbs into his lap with one leg either side of Steve's. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and leans down to press their mouths together, his tongue sweeping across Steve’s bottom lip and then licking inside. Steve moans. Bucky tastes like morning breath, but he doesn’t care, not when he can feel their chapped lips catching, not when Bucky’s lightly scraping his nails down the nape of his neck. Bucky’s hips are rocking softly—it’s not enough to get them off, it’s just a pleasant pressure that sends warmth throughout his body. Their movements are lazy and soft, their hands gentle. There’s no rush. Work doesn’t start until this afternoon and dawn has barely broke. Steve lifts Bucky up and lays him on his back on the couch, shushing him when Bucky reaches up for him. He lowers himself on top of him and presses their mouths together again. He smiles at the happy sigh Bucky releases, chuckles when Bucky kisses him noisily and swats his ass. It’s playful, light. It’s making Bucky  _happy_.

“Want pancakes for breakfast again.” Bucky whispers when Steve starts kissing down his neck. He sucks gently at that spot beneath Bucky’s ear, darkening it from where it’s faded since last night, and listens to Bucky whimper. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over the beautiful little noises that he makes.

“I’ll make you pancakes, baby.”

“With blueberry syrup with real blueberries?”

“Do you have any in the fridge?”

“Mhm.”

Steve sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles lightly on it. Bucky stares up at him with wide eyes that are filled with something akin to wonder. Steve stares right back, watching Bucky’s pupils expand when he runs his fingers over his nipples. Steve pulls back and knocks their foreheads together, watches the way Bucky fights to keep their gaze locked whilst Steve is playing gently with the small hard nubs. “ _Stevie.”_

“You want coffee too?”

Bucky closes his eyes and nods against Steve. “And orange juice.”

“Bacon?”

“Bacon doesn’t go with blueberries.” Bucky laughs, looking back up at him. His eyes are crinkled at the corners and Steve can’t help but kiss him everywhere: his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin. “So? Is that a no?”

“No, gimme bacon.”

Steve rakes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, smoothing it back away from his face. “You’re so demanding.”

“Hey! You offered.”

Steve pecks him one more time on the lips and then gets to his feet, much to Bucky’s disappointment. “Come on. Breakfast time.”

Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, watching as Steve gathers the ingredients. He has a cup of instant coffee in his hand, which he hands over to Steve for a sip when he moves towards him. They stand like that for a moment, passing the mug back and forth, kissing cheeks in between. Their breakfast is on the side waiting to be made, but it’s not going anywhere. They have all morning after all.

 

Steve’s handing a woman her coffee when he hears something smash, Bucky uttering a quiet, “Shit.” Steve turns around and finds Bucky staring forward at something, his face gone horribly pale, his hand lax from where he dropped the mug. “Buck?”

“I gotta— I’ll be back in a minute.” He says, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

Steve frowns, watching Bucky round the counter and exit the coffee shop. But then he sees him. Brock. He’s here, and Bucky’s gone outside to talk to him. Steve is seething instantly. He’s lucky that there’s no one in line because he’ll be damned if he’s just going to stand there while Bucky is outside with the guy who hurt him, who _raped_ him. He flings the door open and marches to stand behind Bucky, glaring as he rests a comforting hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “What the fu—“

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, his voice so low that Steve only barely hears him. “Please don’t.”

“Buck, he—“

“I know. But, please. We’re just talking. I’ll be inside in a minute. Just, go back in there and wait for me.” He says, peering up at Steve with pleading eyes. Steve looks up and sees Brock smirking at him. He winks and it takes all the will Steve has not to dive forward and beat the shit out of him. “Five minutes.” He tells Bucky.

“Five minutes.” Bucky nods.

Steve’s never felt anger like this, never thought it was possible for him to be so furious. But then again, he’s never had a person mean so much to him, not except his Ma. This guy hurt Bucky; hurt the one person who means more to him than anything else. He hurt him irrevocably. Bucky’s never going to be the same again. He’ll recover, but he’ll never get over it entirely. It’s something that’s going to stay with him for the rest of his life. A scar, one that will fade, but will never really disappear.

Steve does as Bucky asks. He stands close to the window with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on them, ready to move at the slightest insinuation of distress from Bucky. He can see Bucky nodding his head to everything Brock’s saying, can see him reaching a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. He keeps his head down like a puppy being scolded, never looking up to meet the eyes of the man who has abused him again and again. Steve will never get past the way Bucky looks like a small child every time the two of them are together. He looks that way now even if Brock appears to be talking softly, apologetically. Steve scoffs when he sees Brock smile down at Bucky. He wants to rip his throat out.

Someone taps Steve on the shoulder and he jumps at the unexpected touch. It’s Natasha. “What’s going on?”

“Brock’s here. He’s talking to Bucky.”

“Why the fuck are you letting him do that?”

“Because Bucky asked me to. I gave them five minutes.”

“Fuck that.” Natasha spits.

Steve watches with an open mouth as Natasha storms outside and steps in between them. She shoves at Brock until he stumbles back a step, a look of surprise on his face. He sees Bucky reach out to grab her shoulder, but she just shrugs him off. Steve can’t hear what she’s saying, but he can tell she’s yelling. She looks murderous, frightening. Brock even seems a little unsettled, unsure. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and turns around to look at Steve through the window. Steve can see the desperation in his eyes, the fear. All the violent energy leaves his body and he reaches his arms out, silently telling him to come back inside.

“Shh.” Bucky whispers when he reaches him. He cups Steve’s face in his hands and runs his thumbs across his cheeks. Steve suddenly realizes that he’s shaking. It shouldn’t be Bucky comforting him, but it feels nice all the same. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.”

Steve reaches up and places his hands over Bucky’s. “Are you sure? What did he say?”

Bucky shrugs. “Just said sorry and stuff. He said he won’t be as rough next time.”

Steve’s breath turns heavy again and he drops his hands to his sides and clenches them into fists. “If he thinks—“

“Stevie, it’s okay. I know you won’t let him touch me again. Not this time.”

And that’s like a slap in the face. _Not this time._ Because Steve failed him last time. He’d promised, and he hadn’t been there.

“Buck, I’m so sorry—“

“Shh, it’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go home.”

A wave of cold air hits them as the door opens and closes, Natasha walking in with a scowl on his face. “That fucker! I swear to God…”

Bucky lets go of Steve and turns to her. “You didn’t hurt him did you?”

Natasha’s eyes go wide. “No, but I fucking should have done.”

“I don’t want you to.” Bucky shakes his head. “It won’t help anything.”

“It’ll certainly make me feel a whole lot better.” Natasha says under her breath.

Bucky snorts, but it’s weak and Steve can tell that he’s starting to feel overwhelmed. He steps forward and puts his arm around Bucky, leans down to press a kiss to his temple when Bucky presses into his side. “You should go home, Buck.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles the top of Bucky’s head. He really wants to kill that bastard. When he opens his eyes again, he’s surprised by the emotion on Natasha’s face; she looks just as heartbroken as Steve feels.

“I think I’m gonna close early today. You two are coming over and we’re gonna eat a fuck ton of take out. No wallowing at home, you hear me?”

“Thanks, Nat.” Bucky murmurs.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s Clint’s turn to choose the movie and you know what that means.”

Bucky groans. “It better not be Minions again.”

“Minions?” Steve frowns.

“He’s fucking obsessed with them. Drives me and Nat crazy.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat tonight then.” Natasha says sarcastically.

Bucky turns in his arms and hugs him tightly. Steve wraps one arm around his waist and cradles the back of his head with the other. “You tired, buddy?”

“Mm.”

“You can nap on the couch.” Natasha says.

“I love your couch.”

Steve smirks. “Me too. I have good memories of that couch.”

“If you tell me that you two fucked on there…”

“Not with Steve.” Bucky says. Natasha looks scandalized, Steve swats his ass, and Bucky bursts into laughter. “I’m kiddin’. Jesus.”

“Better be.” Steve murmurs.

“You jealous, Stevie?” Bucky peers up at him.

Steve leans down and pecks him on the lips lightly. “Maybe.”

Bucky grins widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good.”

“Seriously. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You two make me wanna puke.”

Steve and Bucky grin at each other and press their foreheads together. Despite what just happened, Steve feels happy. He won’t let Brock spoil their day. Especially not when Bucky’s looking at him with so much love in his eyes. God, Steve’s so gone on him.

 

They’re about ten minutes into the movie when Bucky falls asleep, his head in Steve’s lap, his face pressed into the warmth of his stomach. Steve looks down at him fondly and can’t help but laugh when he looks back up and notices Natasha pretending to throw up.

“I think it’s cute.” Clint says, a wide smile on his face. “I don’t think Bucky’s ever had this.”

“He’s not lying,” Natasha sighs. “He doesn’t usually date. I don’t think he’s even had sex over the last six months, and that’s saying something.”

Steve knows that's not true. There's been Brock. He frowns and shakes his head. “Don’t wanna know, Nat.” He doesn't even want to think about it. Not that asshole.

“Don’t make the poor guy listen to that shit.” Clint laughs. “He doesn’t need to know his boyfriend used to fuck everything that moved and had a dick.”

“Guys!”

“Shh, Steve. You’ll wake up sleeping beauty.” Natasha says.

“He’s been sleeping like the dead for days now.” Steve says, stroking his hair with one hand and rubbing his side with the other. Bucky sighs in his sleep and snuggles closer.

“Poor guy probably needs it.” Clint says quietly. The air in the room shifts, a melancholy replacing the light teasing.

“I just wish he’d come to us.” Natasha whispers. “I thought we were close.”

“He does think that.” Steve assures her. “He just— I don’t think he wanted to be a burden. Brock gave him an easy way out.”

“I didn’t think sugar daddies were a real thing.” Clint says.

“And the bipolar disorder. That was in high school. He should have told us about that.”

“It’s a sensitive subject.” Steve shrugs. “I think it still upsets him.”

Natasha nods. “Now I think about it, I do remember in about tenth grade he stopped coming to school. He’d only be there something like three days a week, and he was super quiet, sensitive, y’know? I just thought he was ditching. He never said anything when I asked.”

“But it’s like you said. He bottles everything up. To be honest, I can’t believe he’s been so open with me.” Steve says.

“It’s because he likes you so much. I’m telling you Steve, you mean a whole lot to him. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s happier than he’s been in a long time.”

Steve smiles. “He makes me happy too.”

“Nat, I understand what you said now. My teeth are rotting just looking at them.”

"Shut up. We're in the honeymoon stage."

"It doesn't last. Believe me." Natasha says. She looks at Clint playfully. 

"Hey, I'm romantic! It's not my problem you don't appreciate it."

"Oh and you having gas after we eat pizza is romantic is it?"

"It's a natural bodily function, Nat! It's not my fault my body betrays my attempts at romance!"

Steve laughs, slapping his hand over his mouth when Bucky stirs slightly, sniffling cutely. 

"You can sleep on the couch again if you want." Natasha offers.

"Nah, it's okay. I think he'll be better off in his own bed. And besides, you don't want us christening it do you?" He teases.

Clint laughs. "Buddy, d'ya really think it hasn't already been christened?"

Steve screws his face up, shuffling where he sits. "Thanks for that image."

"Well, you started it."

 

After Bucky's huffed for what must be the hundredth time, Steve can't help but roll his eyes and laugh. They'd gone straight to bed when they got back home, Bucky still grouchy from being woken up. Steve had to practically carry him the whole way home. He knew Bucky was mostly faking being too tired to walk, but Steve indulged him. His boyfriend was an asshole sometimes, it was nothing new.

"What?" Bucky mumbles.

"I take it you can't sleep."

"No. It's fucking annoying. I'm tired." He replies, nuzzling his face into Steve's chest. Steve runs his fingertips up and down Bucky's bare back and leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. "Just relax, baby."

"I'm  _trying."_ He whines. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Insomnia. Sometimes I just can't."

Bucky twists his head and presses a kiss to the centre of Steve's chest. "Aren't you tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Poor baby."

"You want me to sing to you?"

"You can sing?"

"A little." He confesses. "My Ma used to sing me to sleep sometimes. When I had nightmares or just couldn't sleep."

Bucky nods. "Okay then."

Steve looks up at the ceiling, massaging Bucky's scalp, and clears his throat.

 _"Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me_  
_Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee_  
_Sounds of the rude world heard in the day_  
_Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away,_  
  
_Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song_  
_List while I woo thee with soft melody_  
_Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,_  
  
_Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me_  
_Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me._ _"_

Steve looks down and finds Bucky staring up at him, stars shining in his eyes, whole galaxies swimming there. Bucky moves his hand to cup the nape of Steve's neck and then leans up to press their lips softly together. "Stevie," He murmurs, pushing himself up properly so he can look down at Steve, his legs now bracketing Steve's hips. Their groins brush together and they both release a huff of air, but this isn't about that. It's something so much more.

"Yeah, Buck?" Steve whispers in reply, tucking Bucky's hair behind his ears. They're so close that they're going crosseyed, but Steve can't bring himself to look away, too fixated on Bucky's shimmering grey eyes. He's so goddamn beautiful. It hurts. His chest feels tight and there's not enough air in his lungs. He thinks it might be the greatest thing he's ever felt.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to Steve's, nuzzling their noses together affectionately. "I just— I want you to know, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Steve tilts his chin up and kisses him, moans quietly when Bucky opens immediately for him. Their tongues brush lightly, curiously, tenderly. "God, I love you. I don't know if it's too early to say that, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same way, but fuck do I love you."

Bucky whimpers and kisses him again, knots his fingers in Steve's hair and tugs a little desperately. "I love you too."

It's like all the air has been punched out of him, his heart set aflutter, his whole body lit up, lightning striking his insides.  _"Buck,"_ He coos when he notices the tears pooling in his love's eyes. "It's okay. I've got you. I love you."

 _"_ _Stevie."_ Bucky leans down and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. 

Steve rolls them over until he's hovering over Bucky. He stares down at him and traces his features with his fingertips, awed that this man is his, that he gets to call him his boyfriend, that he's in  _love_ with Steve. The tears spill over and run down Bucky's temples, soaking into his hairline. He looks fucking ethereal. His eyes almost blue, bright and shimmering and happy. He giggles and it's the most wonderful sound Steve's ever heard. He smiles widely down at him and kisses his cheeks, nips his top lip before sucking on the bottom one, his eyes never leaving Bucky's. Bucky whimpers, arches his spine to press their chests flush together, his eyes fluttering shut. More tears spill and Steve flicks his tongue gently over the skin, the salt light on his tongue.  _Steve, Steve, Steve. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky._ They're in their own world, nothing can hurt them, nothing can take this moment away from them. They're happy and they're in love. Nothing else matters. Not right now. 

"I wanna kiss every inch of you." Steve murmurs, his lips brushing Bucky's.

"Mm." Bucky moans as Steve's tongue delves inside his mouth. "Not yet. Just this. I just want this right now."

They kiss until the sun rises, until their lips are swollen and bruised, their hands wandering, stroking, caressing. All the while whispering endearments, words of love. If this isn't happiness then Steve doesn't know what is. Because _this,_ this is everything. It's everything Steve's ever wanted. It's everything he's ever dreamed about when he's thought of love. It's this man in his arms. It's Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in this chapter can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtgklHQ52WE)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life kinda chapter, and as per usual, Bucky has the worst luck.

Bucky squeals, thrashing on the bed and gasping between giggles as Steve tickles him. “Steve! Steve, stop!”

“Not until you say you’re an asshole.” Steve chortles. He had been startled awake, a wet finger stuck in his ear. And now, now he’s going to make his asshole of a boyfriend learn his lesson. It’s only fair.

“N-never!”

Steve climbs on top of him, grabbing both of Bucky’s hands in one of his and pinning them above his head. He tickles him harder, his fingers dancing their way up one side and to his armpit. “Say it. Come on, baby. Say it.”

“Sto-o-op.” Bucky pants.

“Payback’s a bitch, huh sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again. _Please.”_

Steve stops digging his fingers into Bucky’s flesh and leans down, presses a kiss to his temple. “You swear it?” He whispers in his ear.

“I swear it.”

“Next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

“Easy!” Bucky exclaims, twisting out of Steve’s grip and shoving at his chest until he’s sitting upright. “You nearly killed me!”

“I think that’s a bit of an overstatement.” Steve laughs, rocking his hips gently. Bucky looks up at him with dark eyes, his hands moving to Steve’s waist to steady him. Steve’s about to climb off him so he can get dressed, but then Bucky grips him harder and grinds his hips up.

“Don’t stop, Stevie.”

“Bucky, I’ve got work.” He says, but he starts moving again all the same.

Bucky tips his head back with a wide, blissful smile on his face. “Feels good.”

And it does, but, “I’ve gotta _go,_ Buck.”

“No you don’t. I wanna have sex.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You always wanna have sex, I swear to God.”

“I just gotta lot of lovin’ to give.”

Steve rocks down harder and laughs when Bucky’s mouth drops open with a loud moan. He rocks down again and again and again until Bucky’s fully hard and whimpering beneath him, and then he pushes up onto his knees and swings his leg over, struggling with Bucky when he tries to pull him back again. He slides off the bed, but Bucky’s got a grip on one ankle, tugging at him with a growl. Steve sways on one leg and falls over with a shriek. _“Buck!”_

“I’m sorry.” Bucky giggles.

“You’re not getting sex tonight. You’re sleeping on the damn couch.” He grumbles as he gets to his feet, rubbing his sore elbow.

“No, Ste-e-eve.” Bucky whimpers.

“You brought this on yourself, Buck.” Steve sing-songs.

“You can’t kick me out of my own bed.”

“You wanna bet?”

“I’m stronger than you.” Bucky argues, smirking as if he’s just won.

Steve shrugs. “Fine. I’ll throw cold water over your head while you’re sleeping.”

“You wouldn’t.” Bucky says, but he doesn't look confident.

“Oh I would.” Steve nods, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You’re the devil, Steven Rogers.”

“A devil that’s not giving you sex.”

Bucky whimpers again, the corners of his lips downturned. It’s a heartbreaking look, his eyes wide and weepy. Steve nearly caves then and there, but he’s too stubborn for that. He’s not really going to deny Bucky, couldn’t even if he tried, but that doesn’t mean Bucky has to know about it. Serves the asshole right.

“Please.” Bucky snivels. And yeah, heartbreaking. Bucky shuffles to the end of the bed and pulls Steve to him, nuzzles his face into Steve’s chest and wraps his arms around him. “I love you. Just want you to touch me. Make me feel good.”

Steve strokes his hair and pulls him close. “You’re an asshole.”

“An asshole that loves you.” Bucky says, looking up hopefully.

“I love you too.” Steve whispers.

“So, sex?”

Steve laughs. “If you’re a good boy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re so condescending.”

“D’ya wanna have sex or not?”

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip. “Mhm.”

“Then behave.” Steve teases.

“Okay.” Bucky closes his eyes and presses his face back into Steve’s chest, shuddering when Steve runs his fingertips down his bare back.

“You wanna come for a run with me?” Bucky hasn’t been going lately and Steve knows it's one of the things in his routine that's supposed to help with his bipolar. He doesn’t want him to get ill again. “It’ll do you good.”

Bucky sighs. "If I have to."

 

It turns out that running with Bucky is a lot more enjoyable than running by himself. Steve doesn't think he's ever laughed so much.

"I'll race you. One lap around the block." Bucky says, running backwards so he can face Steve.

"You really wanna do this?"

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. "You scared you're gonna lose, baby?"

"I was just thinking about your ego. Didn't wanna hurt it, but if you're sure..."

Bucky narrows his eyes are him, a smirk on his face. "Ready, set, go!' 

Steve speeds up, pushing Bucky to the side, and runs as fast as he can to the end of the street. He can hear Bucky grumbling behind him, but it doesn't take long at all until Bucky's running beside at him, grinning widely at him. Steve pushes harder, but Bucky continues to meet him stride for stride. "Come on, baby. You can do better than that." Bucky taunts.

"You're an asshole." Steve pants, speeding up even more, his muscles burning in the best way possible.

"Just thinking of your stamina. Gotta get stronger if you're gonna fuck me all night."

Steve splutters over that, slowing down minutely for a moment. But that's all that it takes; Bucky takes off with a burst of laughter, his head twisting around so he can smile at Steve.

"That's it you little shit." Steve mumbles. He grits his teeth and chases Bucky, reaching his hand out to yank on Bucky's t-shirt. He revels in the yelp Bucky makes and runs faster. They're almost back to the start and Steve breathes heavily and focuses on the end of the street; he can fucking do this. 

"Ow! Shit." He hears Bucky swear behind him.

Steve turns around and sees Bucky bent over. He stops dead and walks over to Bucky, only to be shoved to the side as Bucky runs off again.

"I swear to God, Buck!" Steve yells, running after him with a scowl on his face.

Bucky wins, and he doesn't hesitate to gloat about it. "I won! I won!"

Steve grabs hold of him and presses him against the lamp post beside them. "You're such an asshole."

"Mm. What're you gonna do about it?"

Steve dives forward and kisses him roughly, grasps none too gently at his sides as he presses his tongue forward to swipe across Bucky's lip. They're both still breathing heavily from the running and Bucky moans between heaving breaths. 

"Buck," Steve murmurs against Bucky's lips, trying to untangle himself so he can step back.

"No. Don't stop."

"We're in public. We can't do this here."

Bucky sighs long-sufferingly and pushes against Steve's chest. "Fine." He sulks.

"Race you home?" Steve offers.

"You're on." Bucky smirks.

 

Bucky slips into the shower behind Steve and presses his chest to his back, arms wrapping around his middle. "Are you coming to yoga on Monday?"

Steve groans. "Please no."

"I've got us outfits and everything." He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of Steve's neck.

Steve blanches. He can't seriously... He didn't  _mean it_ though, did he? "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope." 

Steve's horrified when he's standing at the end of the bed looking at the clothes Bucky's laid out. He's bought two pairs of short shorts, one red, one blue, and then two white t-shirts. That would be fine in theory, except they both say _'I'm with him'_ with massive arrows pointing inwards. "Yours are the blue ones."

"Buck, please tell me this is a joke."

Bucky laughs loudly. "Oh no, pal. I'm serious. We're going to yoga and we're wearing these."

"But, Bu-u-uck. We're gonna look like idiots."

"That's kinda the point, Stevie."

"Everyone will laugh at us."

"Stop being a downer. You gotta stop being so serious all the time."

"I don't like being laughed at." Steve sulks.

Bucky pulls him towards him and reaches up to give him a quick peck on the lips. "Please? Do this for me?"

"Why?"

"Because I've never really been in a real relationship before." Bucky shrugs. "I wanna do stupid couply things."

"This is not what normal couples do." Steve points out, raising an eyebrow.

"Well I wanna. We'll look cool, Stevie."

"Oh my God. I hate you."

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's neck and pulls him into a deep, languid kiss. He sighs into it and presses himself further into Steve's body. "Thank you."

"I haven't said yes yet."

"But you're going to."

Steve pinches Bucky's hip sharply, smiling when Bucky yelps. "Fine. But you're cooking dinner."

"Soooo take out then?"

"That's cheating."

"I can barely boil water, pal. I promise you don't want me anywhere near that kitchen."

"I'm so gonna regret this." Steve says, picking up the t-shirt with a frown. 

"Women love gay couples, Steve. We'll be a hit."

"And that's what this is about? You wanna impress all the ladies."

Bucky shrugs, smirking. "It's fun."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Fine."

"I love you so much." Bucky beams.

"And I hate you."

"I know, buddy."

 

"Buck, I'm going out tonight. 'S that okay?" Steve asks once he gets back from work, dropping onto the couch beside Bucky and giving a gentle squeeze to his thigh.

"Um, sure." Bucky nods, his eyes downcast.

"It's fine if it's not. I was just gonna meet Sam. I haven't seen him in a while and he's going to China for a couple of weeks."

"I'll be fine, Steve."

But Steve can see clearly that Bucky's not okay with this idea at all. "D'ya wanna come with me? I'd like you to get to know him better."

"Really?" Bucky asks, looking up at Steve from beneath his eyelashes, Steve's favourite shy smile on his face.

"Yeah. My best friend and my best guy oughta get to know each other, don't ya think?"

Bucky drops his head on Steve's shoulder and wraps an arm around his waist. "You think he'll like me?"

"Course he will, Buck. He said as much after that night at the club."

"And you haven't told him about... _me_ have you?"

"No. I haven't told anyone. That's not for me to tell."

"Then I'd love to come."

"Good." Steve leans down and pecks Bucky's nose, smiling widely when Bucky scrunches his nose up with a cute giggle. God, he couldn't be in love with him any more if he tried. 

 

Watching Bucky at his capoeira class that evening is so much better than Steve could ever have imagined. The way he moves... he flows so beautifully to the music. He leaps into the air and flips, once, twice. He lands so gracefully, so lightly and silently. He immediately pushes up into a handstand, holds it for one second, two, three... He kicks out, swings his leg over the body of his partner and cartwheels back to his feet. He bends backwards, his feet and hands on the floor, and kicks his legs up and over, twists in the air and comes back down to swipe his partner's feet from beneath him. He goes back up into a handstand while he waits for the other guy to recover, his legs bent, walking around the mat. His arm and back muscles are insane, and Steve can't even begin to describe the way his abs tighten and flex, his tanned skin shiny with sweat. Steve's throat is dry just from watching him.

Bucky straightens his legs, arches his spine, and then jumps out of it, crouching down to miss the kick his partner aims at his stomach. The two of them spin and turn so quickly now that Steve can barely keep up. He can hear their harsh breathing, can see the way Bucky's hair is falling out of its bun.

The music ends and they both stand up straight. There's a massive grin on Bucky's face, a look of blissful exhilaration. And Steve understands then. This is something that Bucky really loves. This is something that keeps him sane, keeps him happy. And God he's good at it too. Steve never noticed how flexible he was before, but now that he knows... there's so many things he wants to explore. The other guy pats Bucky on the back and says something to him, something that makes Bucky smile again. 

"D'ya like it?" Bucky asks when he sits beside Steve, wiping the sweat from his face with his towel.

"It was amazing, Buck." Steve enthuses.

"Really?" Bucky looks up at him shyly, his eyes sparkling.

Steve pushes forward and kisses him lightly on the lips. "Really."

"Me and Pietro have been training together for a couple of years now."

"I can tell. You were good together."

"I could teach you a bit if you want. You're pretty strong."

Steve shakes his head. "Not like that I'm not."

"Hey, don't put yourself down. You can lift me just fine."

"Yeah, I suppose I can." Steve says, kissing him again. "We'll see."

Bucky beams and Steve's heart melts. How will he ever be able to say no to him when he looks like that? 

 

"Hey, dude." Steve greets Sam when they get to the bar, hugging him and slapping him on the back.

Sam hugs back and then turns to offer his hand to Bucky. Bucky shakes it firmly, smiling nervously. "Hey, it's is the guy Steve won't shut up about." Sam says with a smirk. Steve blushes furiously.

Bucky glances at Steve with a soft smile on his face. "You talk about me, Stevie?"

"Sometimes." Steve mumbles.

Sam snorts. "Sometimes." He imitates. "He doesn't shut up about you, dude. Bucky this. Bucky that. I think I know more about you than I do my own mother."

Bucky laughs and slides his fingers through Steve's. 

"Shall we get a drink?" Steve says, clearly eager to leave this conversation behind. Bucky smiles at him endearingly and Steve blushes even harder.

"I'll go." Bucky says. "Beers?"

"Yeah, baby." Steve nods.

"Oh man." Sam laughs the moment they're alone.

"What?"

"You got it bad, my friend."

Steve looks down with a smile and scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know."

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"That you're in love with him."

"Yeah. I told him. He loves me too."

Sam claps him on the back with a wide smile on his face. "I'm happy for you, buddy. It's about time someone snatched you up."

"I really don't wanna fuck up this time."

"You won't." Sam frowns. "Why would you?"

Steve laughs bitterly. "I have done every other time since Ma died."

"Yeah, but that was different. You didn't love those girls."

"He's pretty fragile, Sam. I don't wanna screw up. To be honest, I don't really know what to do. I wanna help him, but I ain't got a clue how."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I can't say." Steve shakes his head. 

"You just gotta do the best you can, buddy. You don't have to be perfect. Just be there when he needs you."

Steve nods. "It's hard."

"I don't think it's supposed to be easy. You know that."

Steve looks over to Bucky and laughs when he sees him struggling to pick up the drinks, his tongue sticking out with concentration. "I'm gonna go help him."

"Okay."

Steve smoothes a hand down Bucky's back, wincing when he makes him jump. "It's just me, baby."

Bucky relaxes immediately. "Can you carry one of these?"

"Sure, buddy."

"So, Bucky. You work in the coffee shop with Steve." Sam says when they get back to the table.

"Yeah." Bucky replies.

"What's that like? Working with this asshole all day?"

"Hey!" Steve exclaims.

"It's terrible." Bucky jokes.

"Didn't hear you saying that last week." Steve grumbles under his breath. He smiles when he notices Bucky blushing.

"Ooh, I feel a story coming."

"Sam, you don't wanna know." Steve says.

"But I really do though."

Steve sighs. "Bucky blew me in the bathroom."

Bucky chokes on his beer, his eyes watering. Steve pats him on the back, folding his lips in to stop himself from laughing. Sam's face is screwed up in distaste. "You asked."

"And I really wish I didn't. Isn't that some kind of violation?"

"Yeah, Nat wasn't too impressed." Bucky says. 

Steve slides one hand over Bucky's thigh and squeezes. "She got over it pretty fast though."

"I'm gonna use this as ammunition all the time."

"Hey, I'm not embarrassed by it." Steve says. "It was pretty incredible. In fact, Bucky does this thing with his tongue..."

"Dude!" Sam exclaims at the same time as Bucky snaps, _"Steve."_

Steve shrugs. "Not my fault you're so good at it, baby."

"I'm gonna be sick." Sam says. "I need another drink. Beers all round?"

Steve and Bucky nod. "You can't just say things like that." Bucky hisses.

Steve moves his hand further up Bucky's thigh and squeezes again, revelling in the gasp Bucky gives. "It's only Sam."

"Y'know. I'm beginning to think you're a bit of an exhibitionist." Bucky sighs when Steve lightly brushes his fingers over Bucky's crotch.

"What can I say? You're too tempting for your own good."

Bucky beams. 

"What've I missed? Other than you two making heart eyes that is."

"Nothing." Steve and Bucky say at the same time, bursting into laughter.

"Oh God. This is gonna be a long night." Sam sighs.

 

"Urgh, Stevie." Bucky groans into the crook of Steve's neck. His hair is in his mouth, he's sweating, and his head is pounding.

"What?" Steve yawns, smoothing a hand over the back of Bucky's head.

"Head. Hurts."

Steve laughs and reaches down to swat Bucky's ass. "Drink too much, did we?"

"Why aren't you half dead?"

"Because I stopped a couple of hours before you did. If it helps, I think Sam was thoroughly impressed."

Bucky groans again. "I'm hot. The sheet's sticking to me. You're sticking to me."

"You put the thermostat on when we got home. Must of turned it up too high. You want me to move?"

"No." Bucky says quickly, latching on tighter. "Stay. You're comfy."

"You sure don't want me to go make you coffee? Maybe some greasy bacon and eggs too?"

"Stevie," Bucky moans. "You're a fucking angel."

"So that's a yes?" Steve laughs.

"Mhm."

"Then you're gonna need to get off me, Buck."

"But I don't wanna." Bucky whines.

"You can come with me. We can cuddle in the kitchen."

"Fine." Bucky huffs.

Steve pulls a pair of sweatpants on and laughs when Bucky trails behind him, wrapped up in the comforter. Steve turns on the coffee machine and grabs the food from the fridge, smiling whilst Bucky stands by the kitchen table and sighs at the smell of the coffee that is now brewing.

"Sam really likes you, by the way." Steve says as he cracks an egg over the pan.

"I like him too." Bucky yawns. He steps behind Steve and wraps an arm around him. He presses a kiss to the nape of his neck and then hooks his chin over his shoulder. "Stevie..."

"Mm?"

"Move in with me."

Steve drops the spatula and goes very still. "What?"

Bucky buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck and shuffles nervously from side to side. His grip on Steve is almost painful, as if he thinks Steve will try to escape if he lets go of him. "I want you to move in with me." He murmurs, his lips dragging against the sensitive skin of Steve's throat. He sounds so nervous, so small. "I mean, you practically live here anyway..."

Steve turns off the stove and turns around. Bucky is clinging to the comforter with one hand, his knuckles white, and his eyes are downcast. Steve cups his face in his hands and gently coaxes until Bucky is looking at him. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. "Buck—"

"It's okay." Bucky murmurs shakily, his bottom lip trembling slightly. "You don't have to. I know it's too soon. You don't want to and that's fine."

Steve leans forward and presses their mouths together, sucks on Bucky's bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Bucky whimpers when Steve pulls back and rests his forehead against Bucky's. "I'm not saying no, but I can't say yes yet either." Steve says softly. He doesn't want to hurt Bucky, he loves him, but he's just not sure if he's ready. He's been so alone since his Ma died, and although these past few weeks with Bucky have been wonderful, he's so used to being by himself that he doesn't know how he'll cope with living with someone else. He doesn't want Bucky have to deal with him when he gets low and irritable, doesn't want to wake him up at three a.m. when he's having a panic attack. Steve's a mess and Bucky doesn't need to deal with that on top of everything else.

"Okay." Bucky breathes out wetly.

Steve kisses him again. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Just give me some time."

Buck sighs, clearly done with the conversation. "I want coffee." He says. He looks miserable, his eyes glassy, and Steve hates himself for it.

"Okay, baby. Sit down. I'll get it for you."

Bucky nods but doesn't move, and after a moment of hesitation he presses his mouth roughly to Steve's. He lets the comforter drop to the floor and throws his arms around Steve's neck, pulls him even tighter against him. Steve gasps as his back is pressed against the counter, his body arching slightly from the force of Bucky's kisses. "Buck—"

"Please." Bucky whimpers. "Please kiss me."

"I am, Buck." Steve says, frowning.

"Don't leave me."

Steve laughs, confused. "Buck, I'm not going anywhere. Just because I don't wanna get rid of my apartment, doesn't mean I'm leaving you."

"But you said— I thought you were going home?"

"No, sweetheart. I just meant I don't want to make anything permanent yet. I'm still gonna stay with you until all this Brock business is sorted out."

Bucky sighs with relief. "So you're still going to live here?"

"For now, yeah. Once everything is done with Brock then I'll make my decision, okay? I just need time. I'm used to living alone and I don't wanna make things worse for you."

"You could never do that, Stevie."

"Have you ever lived with a boyfriend before?"

"Well... no."

"So you don't know what it's going to be like either."

"I know I'd like it if it was with you. I like having you here, going to sleep with you, waking up with you."

Steve smiles down at him fondly and pulls him into a soft, languid kiss. "I like it too."

"So just move in with me. Please?"

"How about we talk about it again in a couple of weeks? Once I've had time to think."

Bucky frowns. "What do you need to think about?"

"It's a big decision, Buck. At least, it is for me."

"But, if you do, you'll move in here right?"

"Course. There's not a lot for me in my apartment anyway."

"Good." Bucky smiles. 

Steve leans down and kisses him again. "Can I finish making your breakfast now?"

Bucky nods, sighing when Steve drags his lips down the side of his neck and nibbles on his collarbone. "Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Stevie."

 

Steve frowns in annoyance when his phone starts ringing. It can't be Bucky because he left for work only ten minutes ago; he has no idea who else it could be, other than some idiot selling something. He puts his sketchbook down and gets up off the couch, walking into the kitchen where he left his cell earlier.

"Steve? It's Nat." Her voice sounds broken and horrible, thick with emotion in a way Steve never thought it could be. He panics immediately. 

"What's wrong? What is it?"

"It's James."

"What's happened?" 

"He— There was a car and it— it hit him. He's in the hospital. I just got here."

"Is he okay? He's alive, right? Please, Nat—" He chokes out.

"He's alive, but... Just get here, okay? He's just gone into surgery."

 

When he finally gets to the hospital, Steve is kind of a wreck. He sits down heavily in one of the chairs in the waiting room and covers his face with his hands. He can't help the small hitching sobs that escape him, all the worry finally getting the best of him.

"Hey, Steve." Natasha says, kneeling down beside him and pulling his hands away from his face. She hands him a tissue. "It's only his arm. He's going to be fine, okay?"

Steve nods. "I-I think it's just... the shock. Y'know? And you made it sound really bad on the phone."

"Sorry about that. I was a bit shaken up. When they called they didn't say what was wrong."

"Bastards." Steve laughs humourlessly. 

Natasha opens her mouth to speak when a nurse appears. "James is out of surgery now, if you want to see him." She says, looking down sympathetically at Steve and Natasha.

Steve gets up so fast he gets a head rush and has to grip Natasha's shoulder. "How is he?"

"He's absolutely fine. There's some bruising on one side of his face and down his side, a couple of cracked ribs, and his arm is broken in several places. He'll pull through though."

"Jesus." Natasha huffs.

"Which arm?"

"The left I believe." The nurse, Angela, says.

"Shit." Steve sighs. "What about his tattoo?"

"They will have tried to keep it as much in tact as possible, but I can't promise that it's perfect. They had to place a number of metal plates in his arm to ensure his bones mend properly."

Steve scrubs his hands over his face.

"Sir, it could have been a lot worse. The car was going quite fast when it made contact with the patient."

"I know. It's just... he loves that tattoo. He'll be devastated if it's ruined."

They're silent when they walk into Bucky's room, Steve's heart pounding, trying to prepare himself for what he's about to see. Bucky looks so peaceful in his sleep, despite all the wires hooked up to him. The side of his face is a nice deep shade of purple and the whole of his left arm is wrapped up in a cast. Steve just hopes his tattoo isn't ruined. He knows how upset Bucky will be. 

"You wanna sit down, Steve?" Natasha whispers.

It's only then that Steve realises he's just been hovering by Bucky's bedside, staring down at his boyfriend as if in a trance.

"Come on, buddy."

Steve sits in the chair beside Natasha's and sighs out heavily. "He's really okay."

Natasha nods. "There's barely anything wrong with him, all things considered."

"I fucking hate hospitals. Reminds me of when I was a kid." He says after a moment.

"He'll be out in no time."

"I know. It's just... how does so much shit keep happening to him? Why can't he just catch a goddamn break?" Steve says angrily.

"I don't know." Natasha sighs. "I'm just glad he's got you to look after him."

"He asked me to move in with him." Steve whispers, as if Bucky will be able to hear him even through the anaesthesia.

Natasha turns sharply to him, her eyes wide. "What did you say?"

"I asked him to give me time."

"How did he take it."

Steve snorts. "Not great. I mean, he acted like he was fine, but I think he really took it to heart. Y'know?"

Natasha nods. "If you're not ready though Steve, it was the right decision to make. Even though things are really rough at the moment for him, you've still got to look after yourself, otherwise things will fall apart. A relationship is about two people. It can't be all about him."

"But he needs me. He needs me to be the strong one. I can't move in with him and make him deal with all my shit on top."

"Steve, you're only human, you're just one man. James will understand better than you think. He's good at looking after people. You've gotta let him in."

Steve chuckles wetly. "I don't think I know how to let people in anymore."

"Steve, he loves you. He won't hurt you. He's not going anywhere. I promise."

Steve rubs his fists over his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I wanna try, but I just need time."

"And that's okay. Just don't— don't shut him out. He's tougher than he looks. He's a grown man. You don't need to baby him, even if it seems like it. Let him look after himself, so you can look after _yourself._ Trust me, you'll break if you forget about yourself. You're not exactly stable, Steve. As much as I hate to say it."

"I know. I know." Steve nods. 

"Okay. Good talk." She says, patting him on the knee. "Try and get some sleep. This asshole's going to be out for a while."

Steve moves his seat closer to the bed and takes Bucky's hand in his, resting his head on the mattress and closing his eyes. Bucky will be awake soon. Everything will be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The capoeira routine I used for reference in this chapter can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8xxgFpK-NM)

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://enochianess.tumblr.com) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCASBQ68lbb2CWPhhZuRmC_A)
> 
> If you liked it, please leave kudos or comments!


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